


Reassociation

by Loquatorious



Series: Homebound [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Childhood Memories, Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Therapy, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-08-13 21:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loquatorious/pseuds/Loquatorious
Summary: For years, a set of ten trigger words have held an iron grip over James Barnes. Now, with the help of Wanda Maximoff, Bucky is taking back his humanity, one word at a time.Each chapter follows a significant or poignant moment from James' life after Reassembled, each of which using the chosen word as a prompt. This is a story about Bucky learning more about who he is, and how he and Wanda slowly fall in love with each other.AKA, 'How Bucky Barnes and Wanda Maximoff Killed the Winter Soldier'





	1. Longing

Of all the things that HYDRA had taken from James Barnes, be it his arm, his time, his soul, the worst of all had to be his memories. James had once heard that, in the end, all a person had was memories. He knew now there was absolute truth in that. James had minimal possessions to his name - most of them were lost or discarded after he was declared KIA nearly 80 years ago. What little he had was irrelevant, nothing that really meant all that much. 

If he could have one thing back, from all those years ago, it would be the memories of his time before the war. He could remember the basics; times with Steve, living in Brooklyn, some of the fights, the beginning of the war. Nothing that made any of those memories treasured. He couldn’t remember the smell of the open fire they used to have in the living room, nor the taste of his favourite meal, or even his favourite meal. It was all just moments, with nothing to say he lived in them. James felt like an outsider to his own life, like he didn’t fit in.

Like he had no place in this world. 

That was what they wanted him to feel. That was their goal, with his constant routine of cryogenesis, torture, propaganda, abuse, repeat. They obviously thought that merely replacing the good memories with pain would turn him into the perfect weapon. Thank god he met Steve when he did, James thought. Thank god, his best friend didn’t give up on him. 

It took a while before James truly believed that there was someone, anyone out there who actually cared about his wellbeing. HYDRA was adamant on convincing him that they did not exist. Now, he had several. Friends, teammates, a family of sorts. He had possessions of his own, ones he had bought himself, that he had grown to cherish in their own unique ways. He even had a preference when it came to his coffee. Something as small as that, a small luxury that was afforded to him, went a long way to making him feel like a person again.

If only he still had his memories.

He had confided this with Wanda, on their way to Norway, a few months ago, before they had taken up regular therapy sessions. Even back then, he struggled to believe that she could untangle the mess that was inside his head. Even with her powers, it would take a miracle to reach into the depths of his memory and make some sense of it. Every time he tried to think back on his life, to specific times, his mind clouded over, the faces blurred, the sounds faded away, and the moment would remain just out of reach like a word trapped on the tip of his tongue. It was as infuriating as it was deeply dehumanising. Wanda, however, was adamant that she could make a difference. 

“I haven’t really tried this with anyone else,” she admitted before they began. The pair had found themselves in James’ bedroom, in the space around his bed, opposite each other on small cushions, putting them at eye-level with each other. It was a quiet evening. The moon was just beginning to rise over the canopy of the treetops in the distance. The perfect setting for some calm meditation. “I can read a person well, conjure scenarios that best suit a certain mood. You’ve probably heard how I made nightmares for each of the Avengers.”

“I haven’t,” he said honestly. Wanda tilted her head curiously, to which he merely smiled. James wasn’t in the habit of asking around about people. When it came to bad reputations, he wasn’t in any position to judge. “But that’s good to know. Is it only nightmares?”

“No,” she added quickly, “It can be good dreams, too. It just needs to fit an emotion. A nightmare comes from sadness, or guilt, or anxiety. If I wanted to show something that would make you happy, I could find memories that would trigger that reaction.”

James pondered for a moment.

“Does that mean you can only show me what I can remember?” he asked.

“Possibly,” she shrugged. “But it still requires me going inside your head. Perhaps I can help you order your thoughts a little so that you can remember it yourself.”

“Let’s hope that’s how it works.”

“Well, have a little faith in me, eh?” Wanda smirked, placing her hands on his temples. He smirked back.

“I have more than a little faith in you, Wanda.”

He noticed a glint of something in her eyes before she schooled her face.

“I want you to close your eyes.”

He did so. Soon enough, he felt all feeling divulge inwards as if he were being swallowed up by his own mind. 

James felt surprisingly weightless, swimming in a soup of thought. He tried moving, but he couldn’t feel his limbs. He was only a consciousness, alone in the darkness inside his head.

“James,” he heard the voice of Wanda echoed all around him, “can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he breathed back, hearing it both inside and outside. “This is weird.”

“I know,” Wanda hummed. “So, where do you want to start?”

“At the beginning,” he decided after a pause. “As far back as I can remember.”

He didn’t know what to expect, walking back through his own recollection. It was a lot blurrier than he imagines. Colours and shapes moulded together, producing blobby, unfocused scenes. Even through the lens of his decaying memory, James recognised the setting: Brooklyn, the streets where he grew up.

“Is this where you used to live?” Wanda asked, materialising beside him on the street. He nodded - or rather, he imagined a nod. 

“I think my house is close by.” 

He saw Wanda strain for a second, her face furrowing in concentration.

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“There’s something… missing,” she explained. “I can feel it. There’s something just underneath the surface.”

“Like what?”

“A person. There used to be a person here with you.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Can you… show me?”

She nodded.

“I can try.”

She inhaled, moving her hands in a complex motion. The forms in front of him began to morph. A blurred part of a nearby wall fizzled out, transforming into a foggy silhouette of a small child, skipping past him. There was a noise, at the edge of his hearing. It sounded so familiar. James’ eyes widened.

“I think I know her,” he gasped.

“Her?” Wanda asked.

James paused, surprised at how he could possibly know. Then, he realised. He remembered them.

“Her,” he said firmly. He turned, staring down the alleyway, back towards the little girl. She was faint, barely a shape, but she was there. He was so close. “Can you do anything else?”

“I’m not sure,” Wanda replied.

“Please,” he begged. “I can almost see them. I just need a little more.”

“I don’t know, James-“

“Wanda,” he pleaded. “I need this.”

She hesitated, her hands remaining by her sides. 

“Please.”

Wanda deliberated, gazing towards the silhouette, running past them again and again in a repeated cycle of memory. Eventually, she raised her hands, her eyes glowing intensely. 

“Fine,” she said tersely, “but if something goes wrong, we end this immediately.”

“Hey,” he called, smiling. “I trust you.”

She smiled back, moving her fingers lightly, wrapping the scene again. The silhouette began to morph in turn, and the sound that had haunted the scene began to clear. It was the little girl’s voice, high and shrill and giggling. She was saying the same word, over and over again. 

“Bucky!”

That voice. James knew that voice.

“Bucky! Bucky, wait up!”

He knew exactly who that voice belonged to. 

“Bucky! There you are!”

And then he saw her. The fog began to clear, revealing the remnant of a face; a pair of big, shining eyes; a small button nose that he used to pinch when he was bored; a head of golden-blonde hair, kept in a short bob, so similar to her mother. The face of his baby sister gazed back at him, smiling and beautiful, small and naive. Jenny. His little sister. Happy. She was delighted, and so was he, for a moment. He finally remembered his little sister. He could finally remember all the times he gave her piggy-back rides down the street, all the times he helped her with her homework, all the times he would build paper hats for her, and boats for when it rained. He could remember how proud she was to see him in his army uniform, how proud he was to see her graduate, how they shared a tearful goodbye as he was sent off the front line. How no matter old she was, no matter what she did, she always smelt like vanilla, and adored chocolate, when they could afford it.

And she was happy. She was the happiest little kid on the planet. And he was too. James hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

The very next day - after he enthusiastically thanked Wanda for her help in giving him his family back - he searched online, in the phonebooks, in public record, for any hint or a clue as to where he could find Rebecca Barnes. Eventually, his investigations turned up a lead. Turns out she wasn’t Rebecca Barnes anymore. She had gotten married since he went missing, to a man called Jason Proctor. She had children - grandchildren, even. He was an uncle and a great-uncle, and he hadn’t even known. Some digging found her in a small retirement home on the outskirts of New Jersey. Not too far away from New York. It had a phone number - for guests, he supposed. 

He dialled it in, waiting with baited breathe as the line rang. Eventually, the call connected.

“Hello, Hearth Village Retirement home,” the voice of a patient-nurse called from the other side. 

“Hi,” he stumbled, “My-my name is James Barnes. I-I’m calling to ask if you have a Rebecca… Rebecca Proctor?”

The line went quiet for a few seconds. He glanced into the receiver, waiting for a response. It didn’t come, not for a while.

“Hello?” he called, suddenly feeling very anxious.

“I’m sorry, Mr Barnes,” the voice replied. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “I’m afraid Rebecca… passed away, a few days ago.”

James opened his mouth to respond, but the words refused to come out. His throat was contracting around itself, and his heartfelt like it had been slammed into a brick wall. All he could do was stand stock-still, staring at the carpet. The young, smiling face of Rebecca flooded his brain, taunting him. ‘A few days ago.’ All those years, all that time, he had been missing, and it had come down to a few days. He was so, so close. 

“Mr Barnes,” the voice called to him again. He inhaled shakily, trying to put words together and failing. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry, I… oh god…”

“She was happy,” the nurse added before he could break down any further. “She was the jolliest old woman in the world. The life of the party, even at her age. She had a photo of you, she always carried it with her, wherever she went. She was always telling everyone she could about how proud she was of her big brother.”

He smiled, his eyes glazing over. 

“I’m sure she was,” he laughed, trying to best to man the sob that had crawled its up through his throat. “Was it… peaceful?”

“In her sleep,” she assured him. “Her family are having a funeral on Friday. They’ve been wanting to contact you, but they didn’t know how.”

“Do you have their number?”

The nurse rattled off a telephone number for a Simon Proctor, her son as James recalled. He thanked her, putting down the phone, and slumped against the wall. He didn’t move for a long time, not until Sam eventually found him, wondering where he had got to.

James didn’t tell anyone about the funeral, not at first. He scarcely believed it was happening himself, even when he called up Simon, his nephew, that evening, sharing condolences and asking for details about the ceremony. It wasn’t until James lay resting in bed that night, finally alone, the compound dormant, that he realised that what happened was real. That his little sister was dead and that he would never see her again. 

It was Wanda that came to him, probably sensing his despair from all the way down the corridor. She didn’t ask why. She just held him, throughout the night, in the darkness of his room, letting him break down for the first time in a long, long time. Bucky was sure he hadn’t cried that much since he was a little boy. Tears were a sign of weakness, back then, especially in HYDRA. Wanda didn’t care about weakness. He didn’t have to pretend, not for her. With Wanda, he could be vulnerable. He would always be safe with her - in fact, she promised to him as such, as she sat beside him, whispering softly as he finally began to calm. 

He invited her to the funeral, of course, and she graciously accepted. 

It turns out Rebecca was being buried only a few miles out of the retirement home, in a nearby cemetery. It was a quiet ceremony, only populated with a few surviving members of the family. His family, he reminded himself; by blood, at least. He made efforts to introduce himself, to his nephew and niece, to give his condolences and his support. They didn’t say much, but he knew that it was appreciated. 

Wanda had very kindly brought a bouquet in Rebecca’s honour. Lily flowers, as was appropriate. After the coffin had been lowered, and the grave filled - which Wanda also helped with - she gently leaned the gift on the headstone, next to the bouquet presented by Rebecca’s grandchildren. The two decorated the stone nicely, complimenting the message enshrined upon it:

_ Here lies Rebecca Proctor nee Barnes, _

_ 21st August 1924 - 3rd July 2023 _

_ Beloved sister, mother and grandmother _

_ “There will no longer be any mourning, crying or pain for the old order of things have passed away.” - Revelations 21:4 _

The rest of the funeral moved swiftly onward. Most of the attendants departed for an after-gathering, one which James decided he wouldn’t be attending. He was a stranger to them, after all. They didn’t need a stranger in their homes, not after losing their mother, and their grandmother. Before his niece and nephew left, however, they presented a small gift for him. They told him that, if she were ever to pass away, it was to be sent to him. Her most treasured earthly possession.

James hugged them both, apologising for not being there when they needed it, telling them that he was proud of everything they had managed to achieve. And then they left, taking their children with them, leaving James and Wanda alone for the first time since the ceremony began. 

“You okay?” Wanda asked quietly. James didn’t reply.

Instead, he unwrapped the gift, revealing a framed photograph - the one she must have taken everywhere in her final days, he deduced. It was a clipping of him, surrounded by the Avengers, just after the final battle at the compound. He was standing side-by-side with the others, waving at the journalists that had found their way to the scene after the fight was over. His face harboured a tired but sincere smile. He remembered what the nurse had said, about how she never parted with it, how she had taken time to brag to everyone who would listen that her brother was a superhero. 

His eyes fell to the gravestone once again, and he smiled. How glad he was that he had been able to remember her, even if it was too late. How glad he was that he was holding her final cherished possession in his hand at that moment. He noted, as he turned and put an arm around Wanda’s waist, that it was all because of her. 

“I am now,” he replied softly. 

Wanda had given this all to him. He couldn’t be more grateful. 

He voiced his sentiments to her as they were driving back to the compound. Her only response was that he should consider it a thank you, for what he did in organising Vision’s memorial. Honestly, he thought the two acts could never compare, but he stayed quiet, choosing to accept her gratitude instead. 

James often spent time staring at that photo, imagining the reflection of his sister’s face in the glass, staring alongside him, sometimes for hours on end. He wondered if she took comfort in his printed smile. He hoped she could imagine that his smile was for her. Those times would usually morph into him trawling back through his memories of Rebecca, writing down as many as he could, so that he would never lose them again. It could never erase the pain of knowing that he would never meet her again, but the memory of Rebecca would forever stay with him, for as long as he lived. 

James knew that longing for the past was never a good idea. He had heard such a thing from Steve himself many times. It didn’t stop him from wishing that he had found her just a few days earlier, that he and Wanda had started sooner. If they had, then maybe he could have said goodbye to his little sister. 

James turned under his sheets, resting his head on pillows, staring at the framed photo by his bedside. He reminded himself that he still had so much to live for now. The Avengers; the new world; Wanda. He had a place in the world, a place where he belonged. It was reassuring, of course, it was, but he knew that the longing would never leave him. He would always long for what was, what could have been. That was just in his nature, just like it was for Steve, for a time. 

And just like Steve, he knew that he would grow out of it eventually. He just needed time.


	2. Rusted

A little-known fact that James had told no one was that his old mechanical arm - the one that crushed the life out of so many innocent people and was used to block bullets and climb up walls - could feel pain. Not accurate pain, more like an intense stinging sensation. Enough feedback to tell him what should hurt, enough to make him regret having a bullet shot into his hand. He knew why, of course. It was in aid of making his arm as responsive as possible, and that included somewhat simulative nerves. 

It also meant that every time it had to be repaired or upgraded, for him, it was hours upon hours of unceasing agony — free torture for HYDRA.

Of course, it also meant that when, during his brawl with Stark in Siberia, his arm was blasted in half, severing the limb at the shoulder, he felt every nerve ending in his shoulder ignite. The feeling was excruciating, enough to render him helpless, but at the same time, it felt freeing. The weight that he had shouldered on him for so long was now gone. He could walk straight again. 

James didn’t miss his old arm, not one bit, especially not after receiving one custom made from the king of Wakanda himself. His new arm was stronger, lighter and far more flexible than the old. It also dampened his nerve endings, so that his new arm could no longer feel pain. Now, whenever a bullet grazed his metal arm, it merely tingled a little. Amazingly, he could still feel the softer sensations, such as the rough texture of gravel or the soft embrace of fur, with perfect clarity. Something to do with the vibranium better absorbing kinetic energy at high velocities, or whatever it was that Shuri had explained to him. James was just glad it was easily removable.

Most of the time, when not on missions or son active duty, James liked to be armless. It helped in differentiating his work from his private life, removing himself from what he used to be, developing who he was now. Even if James missed the use of his second arm, it wasn’t that bad. He was right-handed, after all. He was capable, he was even adept at certain activities - turns out he could cook a mean omelette, amongst… other things. Would he have his real arm back if he could? Of course, he would, but his vibranium arm, even living with one arm, was a much better alternative than the one that was grafted onto him all those years ago.

Honestly, if he never saw that arm again, it would be too soon, which is why he was currently glaring at the charred wreckage of what was left of the Winter Soldier with no hidden contempt.

It had been recovered from Siberia as part of the ongoing investigation into his disappearance back in 2016, after the bombing the UN. Now, with the case closed and his induction into the Avengers effectively pardoning him of all crimes - backed up by strong support from Wakanda’s highest-ranking officials and psychologists - the government had gifted the metal limb to him personally. Probably as a token of respect, maybe a peace offering. James didn’t care. He wouldn’t have minded if they threw it in the trash, or even left it in that old HYDRA base to rot. Would have saved him the trouble of doing it himself.

He gathered into a trash bag, heading through the compound to where they kept the garbage disposal, stomping heavily. 

“What’s up?” he heard as he marched through the living area of the Avenger’s shared quarters. He swivelled, noticing Wanda curled up on the sofa, a thick book in her lap. James sighed, lifting the bag for emphasis.

“Just getting rid of some bad memories,” he explained. He opened the bag, lifting the ruined arm for Wanda to inspect. Her eyes widened, and she bolted from her seat.

“James,” she gasped. “Is that..?”

“Yep,” he murmured, handing it to her. Her hands buckled for a fraction of a second as she adjusted to its weight. 

“I thought they’d lost it,” she marvelled.

“Apparently not,” he growled. “Which is why it’s going in the trash.”

She glanced at him. 

“You don’t want to keep it?”

“I don’t want anything to do with it,” he replied bluntly. She admired him for a moment, her eyes glinting with some new, something devious. The corner of her lips curved upwards in a ghost of a smile.

“I have a much better idea for it,” she offered. 

Her idea had taken them to the edge of the compound, in a secluded place away from the hustle of the facility. The breeze was cold and bracing, rustling the treetops every so slightly. Once they arrived, Wanda placed the arm on the grass, taking several paces back from it, which James copied. 

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“You’re not the only one with a grudge against HYDRA,” she explained. “I’m going to destroy it myself, and you’re going to watch.”

James stared at her, stunned for a moment by the tone of her voice, so cold that could freeze a volcano. The look in her eye was deadly, staring intently at the metal limb a few metres in front of her. 

“Are you sure you can handle it?” he asked, to which she responded with a quizzical look. “You know what I mean. I don’t want you spraining a muscle, not over that thing.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “It’d be worth it never to have to see that thing again.”

He glanced at her, then back to the arm, sitting awkwardly on the lawn. The glint on the red star adorning the shoulder caught his eye. The red star that earned him his name. ‘The Red Hand’. That was all he ever was to HYDRA: a hand. A metal hand. That’s what they had spent years trying to drill into him, trying to eradicate his humanity, replacing it with clinical utility. James knew exactly what that arm represented, how many years of his life were lost to that role - he assumed that Wanda knew what it had cost him as well, considering how the edges of her pupils and the tips of her fingers were brimming with red energy, exuding pure, unbridled rage.

He turned to her and nodded.

“Do your worst.”

Wanda’s pupils slowly clouding over with scarlet light, coupled with her small smirk, caused a shiver to run down James’ spine. Her fingers twisted in all different directions as she raised her hand, creating a cloud of red energy that appeared around the arm. As she continued to contort her digits, the arm started to rise off of the ground, jerking erratically.

Wanda began to heave, her face scrunching up, her eyes glowing brightly. James moved back to the arm and winced as he heard the metal tendons began to bend and snap. The segments on the biceps started to shake violently, the edges of the seam disintegrating. The silver sheen of the limb slowly corroded, oxidising into a dull sheen, as the titanium was gradually replaced with dust. 

Suddenly, Wanda pulled her fingers apart with a cry, ripping the arm in two, exposing the insides to the corrosive red energy that lit the pair from afar. It was hypnotic, watching the tool that had ruled his very existence for so many years fade away into small chunks of rust. Eventually, Wanda inhaled a sharp, long breath, crushing her hands into fists. The two pieces imploded, crumbling into little piles of ash on the ground in front of them. 

The final remnants of the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’s secret weapon, blew away on an errant gust of wind, scattering into the lawn. It was done.

Wanda gasped, doubling over with exhaustion. James was quick to catch her, wrapping her in his one good arm.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

She glanced up at him, managed a weary smiled. The red in her eyes disbanded, revealing her natural, beautiful green. 

“Thank you,” she replied softly, relaxing into his embrace. “That felt good.”

“That looked good,” he applauded. “I’m almost jealous.”

The two held each other for a while listening to the rustling of the branches in the distance, watching what was left of the rust float away in silence. 

“James?” Wanda eventually whispered. “Honestly, I prefer your new arm.”

James stared down at her, her small, honest smile beaming up at him. He dissolved into soft giggles.

“What?” she asked indignantly.

“Nothing, doll,” he replied, holding her tighter. “Thank you, Wanda. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, James.”

Suffice to say, James knew as he held Wanda’s lithe body against his, bundling her warmth against the cold air, he was making her a killer omelette tonight. 

Little did he know, watching James cook with all the skill and grace of a master chef, using only one hand was one of the most alluring things Wanda had ever seen. Despite herself, she wondered what else the White Wolf could accomplish with just one hand...


	3. Seventeen

“I still don’t understand why you don’t like him,” Wanda asked one day, as she and James sat side by side at the breakfast table. 

“Like who?” he asked absently, reading the news on a table beside him. 

“Him,” Wanda replied. James looked up, only to see her presenting him with the infamous stuffed teddy bear that carried his namesake. Bucky Bear. A small, golden stuffed teddy bear, wearing a tiny blue bombardier jacket, decorated with golden buttons, red boots on his feet and a red domino mask across his beady eyes. He was designed to look like a romanticised version of James himself, back when he fought with Steve in the war. So, of course, it was completely inaccurate.

Bucky smiled.

“I don’t hate him,” he replied, turning back to the tablet. Wanda sent him a confused look.

“Then why do you always hate it when I bring him on missions?” she asked.

“Because he’s usually there to help Sam make fun of me.”

“Not always,” Wanda pointed out. “He’s our mascot.”

Bucky merely shrugged.

“If you say so,” he mumbled. Wanda sighed, pouting adorably.

“Come on, James,” she moaned, “You have to admit he’s adorable.”

“He is,” Bucky conceded. “Can’t deny him that.”

“And,” Wanda added nonchalantly, rising from the table, delivering her plate to the dishwasher, “he’s an excellent bed partner.” 

Bucky smirked.

“Just like the original,” he scoffed. Wanda smiled, clutching the toy bear to her chest, skipping away, presumably to get dressed. 

“Come on, Bucky Bear,” she whispered. “Let’s leave grumpy face on his own.”

Once she had turned the corner, through into the hallway that lead to their individual dorms, Bucky allowed his smirk to soften into a genuine smile, gazing at where Wanda had just been. 

The truth was he adored that bear. He just preferred when it wasn’t being used against him in some way. How could he not love the stuffed toy? It was his 100th birthday present, after all. 

Back before the Snap, before Thanos, before the five years that proceeded it, Bucky was spending his time in Wakanda, recovering from his mental programming by the hands of HYDRA. It was a solitary life. Of course, he often had Shuri around to help him with mental exercises, therapy and other such things, but being the only white man in a central-African community, and being one of the only ones who didn’t understand the local language… it was quite alienating. Not that the locals weren’t friendly, in fact, they were extremely welcoming. Especially the children. They were the ones that gave his new name: the White Wolf. Still, it was comforting to have occasional visits from his friends: Sam, Natasha, Wanda, especially Steve. 

Every so often, he would bring gifts, stuff to tide him over or to entertain him in the middle of nowhere. Most of the time, it was a book, or souvenirs - something easy to take without anyone noticing. One day, however, Steve brought him something very different. 

Bucky could tell, seeing that little smile on his brother’s face that always meant trouble, that this time it would be something far more humiliating. Something far more mischievous. Probably something that Natasha put him up to. He was fully prepared for a jibe at his amputated arm or his long hair, perhaps a mirror, or some tin foil, maybe. 

However, when Steve finally unwrapped his duffel bag and presented the contents to him, Bucky quickly realised that it wasn’t any of those things.

It was a bear. A teddy bear, dressed in red and blue. 

“What the hell is this?” Bucky asked, juggling it in his hand. 

“Well,” Steve began, “Remember what I was telling you about our time in DC, about how we needed to hide out in the Smithsonian for a couple of hours before we could find our next contact?” Bucky nodded. “Well, we were walking through the gift shop - Nat and I - when we came upon this little guy.”

Steve gestured to the bear in his friend’s hand. 

“He’s called ‘Bucky Bear’,” he explained, his grin slowly growing wider “I’ve heard he likes warm hugs and saving America.”

Bucky glared at his best friend in disbelief. 

“You risked your asses in the gift shop, just for this guy?” he asked.

Steve shrugged, zipping up his bag in the process.

“It was Nat’s idea, actually,” he admitted. Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course, it was. “Although, if you don’t want him, we’ll happily have him back. He’s a big hit with the rest of the group.”

Bucky scoffed.

“I’m sure he is,” he said sardonically, imagining Sam’s laughing face. 

“Wanda loves him,” Steve casually pointed out, trying to act as innocent as possible. Bucky stopped. The image of the Bear being crushed in Wanda’s embrace, her face a picture of joy. 

“Does she now?” Bucky asked, attempting to sound aloof, causing Steve’s grin to extend across his face, akin to a Cheshire cat

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “She rarely parts with it. Even takes it to bed; says he helps her sleep.”

“Steve,” Bucky growled, to which Steve merely laughed. 

“Hey, that’s not the only reason,” he quickly added.

“Oh yeah, what else? Does he talk as well?”

“No,” he explained. “I just thought it would be a nice birthday present.”

“For who?”

Steve’s smile dropped slightly.

“For you, Buck.”

Bucky glanced up at him, his eyes widening.

“Mine?” he asked. “Wait, what’s the date today?”

“What, you don’t know?”

“Does it look like I have a calendar?”

Steve sighed heavily.

“It’s March 10th,” he replied. “2017. You’re officially a hundred-years-old, Buck.”

Bucky gasped, landing haphazardly on the makeshift bed in his hut. A hundred years since he was born. Bucky Barnes - a boy, born in the late-1910s, a time when you were lucky to make it to 50 - had managed to reach 100. And he didn’t even realise it until a few seconds ago.

“Buck?” he heard Steve’s voice calling out to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he nodded faintly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bucky sat quietly on his bed for a good long while, trying to take it all in. A hundred years of life, and possibly many more. How old would he be when he finally died? A hundred-and-seventy? A hundred-and-eighty? How many people on Earth lived to a hundred-and-eighty-years-old? He dreaded to think. A hundred years felt so long already; even now, he felt tired. 

“Buck,” Steve called, a little louder this time, “talk to me.”

“How long before you turn 100?” Bucky asked, taking Steve aback.

“Next July,” Steve replied. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that, either.”

“God, we’re old,” Bucky sighed, covering his face with his hands.

“I’m starting to find that being old is a state of mind,” Steve shrugged, sitting beside his friend on the bed frame. Bucky scoffed.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Doesn’t matter what I call it, so long as it gets me through the day.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that we might be the oldest people on the planet?”

“After what I’ve seen, Buck,” Steve replied, “I sincerely doubt that. I used to work with a god, and he was - what? - a thousand? Maybe more? We’re hardly ancient.”

“But compared to humans….” Suddenly, Bucky began to laugh, glancing at Steve. “Oh my god!”

“What?”

“Imagine it! A hundred years old,” he stared pointedly at Steve, “and still a virgin.”

Steve barked out a laugh.

“I haven’t been a virgin in a long time, Buck,” he responded. 

“Who to?” he asked. “Don’t tell me it’s Romanoff-“

“Actually, it was one of the chorus girls,” he explained, “back when I was touring. She was pretty excited about me being Captain America and all. I saw my chance and… you know, it wasn’t that bad.” He reclined on the bed, leaning back casually, catching Bucky’s eye. “But she’s got nothing on Nat.”

Bucky gaped, his eyes wide.

“You dog!” he cried, slapping him on the abs with his spare hand. The two soon dissolved into boisterous laughter, spending the rest of the day just relaxing, handing out, being the two young boys that grew up in Brooklyn. It was Bucky’s best birthday in a long time.

Ever since then, he kept the bear on his rustic nightstand, watching it sit happily beside his bed every night, his stitched smile never once diminishing. He never used it for his intended purpose - Bucky wasn’t the type of guys that took much comfort in stuffed toys, he never was for some reason. But he always kept it close by, always made it a point to study it, to memorise it. Not just for Steve’s sake, but for his own wellbeing. 

It was amazing to him that this bear even existed. For years, he never imagined that James Barnes could have an effect on anyone, that he possessed no kind of notoriety. He always assumed that his public persona would remain the Winter Soldier. He thought that his legacy would only be death and fear and pain. And yet, here was a tiny cuddly toy, in his image, made to be reminiscent of him, a presentation of him and his achievements. And it was cute. 

It was the first time that James truly realised that the idea of James Barnes could lead to something positive, something optimistic and warm and safe. 

Of course, Bucky loved that bear.

Although, it certainly did hope seeing Wanda’s obsession with it in person. Seeing her clutching that toy to her bosom, squeezing it tight, seeing its satin smile beaming back at him in a way almost spoke of immense enjoyment, teasing Bucky with what he could have if he tried... The fact that she took him to bed was not lost on Bucky, in fact, it brought him a great deal of comfort. Even in teddy bear form, he was still helping Wanda. 

Speaking of which, the woman in question was now striding past him, dressed in her full Scarlet Witch gear. He must have zoned out for longer than he thought.

“Are you ever going to get dressed,” Wanda rolled her eyes. 

“Sorry,” he replied, drinking the rest of his orange juice and ditching his bowl in the sink. “I was just thinking.”

“Of what?” Wanda asked. 

“Honestly, about Bucky Bear,” he chuckled. 

“Oh, so now you’re coming round to him?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I guess I am. You know, I might steal him later, see if he’s as good of a bed partner as you say he is.”

“Well, you can’t have him, “Wanda crossed her arms, her nose pointed up in defiance.

“He’s my birthday present,” he argued. 

“And I take better care of him than you,” she argued back. “I feel like I’m doing all the work in maintaining this bear, James.”

“It’s not my fault you demanded custody,” he sniggered, causing her to roll her eyes affectionately. 

“Go,” she dismissed him, “get dressed. We start in twenty minutes, and Sam gets cranky when we’re late.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky conceded, “I’m going. But just so you know, if ever Bucky Bear’s not around, and you need a new bed partner…”

He turned the corner just in time to miss Wanda’s face beginning emulate her uniform. 


	4. Daybreak

Wanda knew when she signed up to be James’ mental therapist, that she would be exposed to some of the worst moments of his life. That was the point. That was what made her sign up in the first place. Regular therapists had to coax the worst out of their patients, usually with words. The memory of the event, the horror that no words could describe, would remain in their head, eating away at them. Wanda’s method was different. Her abilities allowed her to go inside, to root through the trauma, to expose it, to understand better how to help them. How to help James. 

Of course, this meant that she would have to experience his trauma along with him. And that meant seeing, hearing and feeling things she would never forget for as long as she lived. Things that kept her up and night and followed her into her dreams.

One memory, in particular, persisted in tormenting her. She remembered it well, the day she and James had taken that first step into their strange new technique. The day she saw one of the worst moment of James’ life.

Wanda found herself in a massive military compound, surrounded by towering walls of stone and metal. In the middle of the room sat James, strapped into in titanium chair, his arms and legs latched into the device, so tight that it was wonder his bones didn’t break. His face was obscured by a mechanism that wrapped around his temples, small wires digging into his skin, right into his pain centres. On all sides, he was surrounded by Russian soldiers, all holding heavy assault rifles, ready to fire should he try to escape. In front of him stalked a separate officer. In his hands rested a book with a red cover.

As soon as his eyes fell on the book, he began to panic, his eyes widening.

“No,” he breathed, pushing against his restraints. “No!”

“Тоска.”

A creeping sensation, something buried in the back of his head, suddenly making himself known. 

He cried out, desperately thrashing, fighting for his mind. An effort that was cut short but a shot of electricity pushed into his head. The scream that followed shattered Wanda’s heart like glass. It was a raw, unbridled sound, a torturous cacophony of fear, despair and pain. To see it come from Bucky’s mouth, a man who had been so kind to her, a man filled with so much love and compassion, was like having hot knives pressed into her. She wanted to rush in, to rip his restraints away and rescue him, to hold him to her chest and tightly as possible and protect him from whoever might aim to hurt him. But she wasn’t here to change it, she was here to watch, to understand. And that was what she did.

Wanda watched, with a heavy, broken heart, as her precious James lost the battle. Against the pain, against his programming. She felt him drowning, watching as James Barnes was washed away, replaced with a blank slate. The Winter Soldier was awake, and James was dead.

It was only afterwards, after she disconnected from James’ mind, resurfacing to the world around her, that she realised from the wetness on her cheeks that she had been shedding tears. 

Of course, that wasn’t the end of it. James still had so many other memories of being locked into that chair, forced to listen to each of those words, his humanity slowly being ripped from him. Some times they would torture him, training him to respond to stimuli in the only way they knew how: pain. Pure, debilitating pain. And every time he would scream, cry out, beg them to stop - until eventually he just stopped. He stopped trying to get away or trying to get it to end because he knew that it would never end. No one was coming to save him. After all the people he’s killed, he didn’t deserve saving.

It reminded Wanda too much of her time on the RAFT, being strapped into that horrible straight jacket and shock collar, tased whenever she made a sound, or moved, or breathed in the wrong manner. Any reason, really. The men who kept her contained, they feared her; they wanted complete control over her. So they were cruel. They showed her similar cruelty that what James had suffered - not for the sake of justice, or righteousness - just because they could. And she had to sit there and take it, waiting for someone, anyone to come and get her. 

At least she had her friends with her, who would often shout encouragement to her, telling her to carry on or offer her a reassuring look. She was never alone. James was. He had no one, not a single person, to call a friend. Every person he met treated like a tool, something to use and abuse, then abandon, lock up in cryo-stasis for the next mission.

It sickened her to her stomach. 

It was like an infection that clung to her in her worst moments, the sound of his piercing cries. It nested in her brain, driving into her subconscious, deep enough to wake her from a dark and fitful nightmare one night. She bolted upright, her hand raised and glowing, scanning the room for anyone, anything, that could be a threat. of course, she found herself alone. Alone, except for Bucky Bear, that had unceremoniously fallen to the floor in her writhing. 

Wanda reached down, softly stroking the bear’s golden fur, whispering apologies to it. She held it close to herself, embracing its soft, cool material. Wanda glanced over the digital clock on her bedside table, reading that it had barely gone past five in the morning. No point in going back to sleep, it was scarcely a couple of hours before she would have to wake up again. 

She rose from her bedsheet, putting on her slippers and padding towards the shared kitchen, heading straight to the coffee machine. She picked a black, choosing her favourite mug and pressing the appropriate buttons to get the dispenser going. She was so lost in her actions, that she failed to notice the man sitting by the window until his voice pierced the quiet. 

“You too?”

Wanda jumped, whirling around, only to see James absently holding a mug of steaming tea. His eyes were shallow, harbouring dark bags underneath. Clearly, he hadn’t been awake long. She wilted in her relief.

“James,” she breathed. “What are you doing?”

“Same as you, I imagine,” he replied. “Couldn’t sleep. Decided to just get on with the day.”

Wanda’s gaze dropped to the floor, and her fingers began to intertwine nervously. 

“Was it a nightmare?” he croaked, taking a sip of his drink. She nodded. “Wanna talk about it?”

“S’Nothing,” she mumbled. 

“It was about me, wasn’t it?” She remained quiet, all but confirming. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she replied heatedly. James scoffed.

“I have a lot to be sorry for,” he pointed out. Wanda sighed irritably.

“James-“

“Look, I’m sorry, okay. At least for costing you your sleep.”

“It’s cost you a lot more.”

“Maybe, but at least it’s me paying for it, rather than someone I care about.”

“And what about the people I care about?” she challenged. “It’s hard for me to watch you suffer, James. It breaks my heart. But I know that doing so helps me better understand what you’ve been through, so if I have to, I’ll keep doing it. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean I regret it, and if it costs me a few nights sleep, so be it.”

She padded up to his side, rubbing a hand affectionately across his shoulder. 

“You’re worth the nightmares,” she whispered. James gazed up at her in a way that said he didn’t quite believe her. She merely pulled him into her grasp, hugging him close to her body. He didn’t have to believe her for now, she reasoned, he just had to hear her. “You’re a good man, James Barnes. You just need help.”

She felt an arm wrap around her waist, inviting her in further.

“Thank you,” he spoke into her dressing gown, “For helping me.”

They stayed together for a while, so long that Wanda was almost worried they would both fall asleep. It didn’t help that the room was so quiet, with only the moonlight filtering through the window, painting the room in a thin layer of silver. 

That was until a beam of orange appeared out of the corner of her eye.

Wanda turned her head, careful not to disturb James, and froze. Before her, ring above the treetops was a sky of fiery orange and pink. The scene was cloudless, giving her a perfect view as the atmosphere was slowly enveloped in light, shimmering across the still water of the nearby lake. It was one of the most beautiful scenes she had ever witnessed.

“James,” she nudged him, causing him to stir. “Look.”

James turned and, within a second, was similarly transfixed at the sight of the rising sun.

“Woah.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, suddenly feeling emotional. “It’s amazing.”

“I’m just glad I’m here to see it.”

Wanda hummed in agreement. 

The pair of them had been through so much to get to this moment: pain, heartbreak, loss. Seeing this as their reward, wrapped in the safety of each other, secure in the knowledge of each other, made all that came before almost worth it. It felt like, if there were ever a light at the end of the tunnel, this was it — the dawn of a new day, a new chapter in their lives. Finally, after a long and dark night, the day had come, and it was shining brighter than they could have ever hoped.

It would be a long time before the couple of them could bring themselves to get on with the day. For now, they were perfectly happy sitting and watching the sunrise, nursing their mugs of coffee, as slowly but surely, their nightmares were all but forgotten.


	5. Furnace

The first Bucky Barnes ever saw of Wanda Maximoff was on the news. Back when he was a fugitive from the powers that be, the shackles of HYDRA freshly broken, having laid low in a dirty, abandoned apartment with an old television set, he managed to catch her first public appearance as an Avenger. It was an evening report, detailing the bright, young recruit and what little there was to know about her. Even back then, seeing her, distorted by the grain the screen, he was slightly mesmerised. Something about her captivated Bucky, entranced him, awakened something inside him that he once thought lost. 

Even when he was barely a person, struggling to find himself, Bucky had longed for her.

Now, he was her teammate. He got to work with her every day, helping people, saving lives. That pearly smile that dazzled Bucky every time he saw it - sometimes that was directed at him, at when it was it lit up his whole world. 

However, he still wanted more.

Every time he saw her fight, twisting and stretching her limbs like they were made of smoke, a little part of him wondered how far they could go, how he would love to feel those hands against him. Wanda didn’t brawl; she didn’t punch or kick or get her hands dirty as he did. When Wanda was on the battlefield, the only way he could describe her movement was dancing. The sight of her, clothed in a deep, blood-red, her bright brown hair waving behind her… it was almost hypnotising. 

He could watch Wanda work for hours on end, as weird as it sounded. Hey, it wasn’t the creepiest pseudo-romantic thing Bucky ever heard. Apparently broadcasting your relationship online, for the world to see, was endearing these days. Bucky preferred to keep himself to himself.

Except, that was precisely what Wanda was trying to discourage him from doing. The whole point of their therapy time together was to get him to open up about his feelings. That was much easier said than done when Wanda was the one trying to open him up. Of course, she could always force it all out of him; it was well within her abilities. However, she would never do that, not to him, and Bucky admired for that.

Bucky would trust her with his life.

The problem was that he didn’t trust himself.

This obsession he had, he knew it wasn’t wise. Wanda didn’t want to be put on a pedestal or desired from afar. She wasn’t one who would appreciate him staring; he knew that for sure. She deserved to be seen for who she was: a brilliant, kind, caring, normal young woman. Wanda was his coworker, and that demanded a certain level of respect - especially in the 21st century.

Still, that low cut corset she always wore on missions certainly didn’t help matters.

So, by the time it came to their first session, he decided to bury his desire deep down inside, putting it in a corner to be dealt with on its terms. Bucky thought that it was only appropriate. 

Unfortunately, that resolve faltered the moment he saw her evening wear. It wasn’t precisely a nightdress, more like just an oversized t-shirt she had probably stolen from him at some point. It covered her in a presentable way, but what left the was open to him made his pulse run like a jackhammer. It didn’t know a single, uncovered shoulder could be that distracting.

So, Bucky decided to double down, keeping all thoughts regarding Wanda in that light out of the way. He thought that, if he tried hard enough, Wanda would never notice. What he failed to take into account, as they began their regular meditation, was that the more you try not to think about something, the more the complete opposite happens. In the end, it was only a matter of time before she noticed the elephant in the room.

“There’s something you’re hiding from me, James,” she murmured. He couldn’t see her face - his eyes were closed, just like her’s, as was customary for their session - but he could imagine it scrunched up that adorable way it did when she concentrated. Her hands were stretched over his temples, reaching over from where she sat, on the sofa just behind him. He leant back between her legs, against the seat of the couch, sitting upon the carpeted floor. 

“I can’t hide anything from you,” Bucky chuckled in response. She tutted.

“You know what I mean,” she retorted. “You’re pulling your thoughts away from me.”

“Can’t help it.”

He felt her lean forward.

“You know,” she breathed just shy of his ear, “It would help if you knew how to relax.”

And just like that, everything he had tried to chain up in his head came rushing back into the forefront. The contact of her legs on his sides became all the more apparent, bringing to mind the image of her gliding through the air, her legs poised like a ballerina in suspension. 

“You think that’s gonna help me relax?” Bucky growled, his hands tightening into fists on his knee caps. “Because it’s not.”

“It wasn’t meant to,” she grinned. “I just wanted to see what you were trying not to think about.”

His face fell. Wanda giggled.

“There it is. I see it now.”

“You don’t play fair, doll,” he growled.

“I’m not here to play fair,” she shrugged, resting her chin on his crown. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered, really.”

Bucky scoffed.

“I can’t see how.”

“Well,” she rolled the word torturously, “It means that my hard work paid off.”

Every thought in Bucky’s head froze, causing Wanda to giggle.

“You thought I never noticed?” she teased, flashing him images of his gormless staring from her perspective, all the times she caught his eyes wandering, moments where she would see his head turn away just in time. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I never meant for you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I think you’re the only uncomfortable one here, James. I know you’ve been staring at me behind my back. It’s not entirely your fault.”

Bucky stopped, straightening up, turning his head ever so slightly to the source of her voice.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she said, squeezing herself ever-so-closely, “there’s a reason I kept the corset.”

Then she let go, bringing him back into the present, separating herself from him, physically and mentally. It stunned him like a cold splash of water, or a blinding white light, staggering him for just enough time so that she could escape. “So,” Bucky heard from the other side of the room, “same time tomorrow?”

He turned, seeing her propped up against the door, a devilish look on her face. 

“This isn’t over,” he warned her. She only responded with a smirk, with only served to agitate him more. “This means war. You know that?”

“Sure it does,” she said with the sincerity of a dismissive parent. “You wanna turn down the thermostat? It’s like a furnace in here.” With little more than a wink, she skipped out of the room, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

‘Like a furnace in here.’ So that was her game, to get him hot and bothered in a way that she knew would be easy for him to remember, in a way that was fun for both of them. Well, fun in a torturous, agonising sort of way. While it was true that the two of them considered the idea of a relationship not too far away, they both knew that the timing was wrong. Too early. Just a little bit too early.

Still, flirting was now on the table. Oh, Bucky had a few ideas up his sleeve with how to give Wanda taste of her own medicine because she needed to know how he felt at that moment. This heat that was burning his inside likes a wildfire; an inferno was raging, calling for him to do oh so terrible things to her, to make her scream in the best of ways. To feel wanted, desired on the most primal level. 

Of course, he needed a cold shower, first. Moreover, preferably soon. Revenge was best served cold, but it was also best to plan it without a constant throbbing heat to distract you. So that was what Bucky did, taking a good long while to clear his head, remembering the feeling of that fire fading away, lying dormant, just long enough for him to steal a copy of her timetable for the compound gym. Just long enough for him to make a couple of adjustments…

*

The following morning found Wanda making her towards the workout area; a bag slung over one shoulder and a towel over the other, whistling merrily as she went. Dressed in only her form-fitting gym wear, she felt ready for another session intense exercise — specifically, her calves. Sitting cross-legged every night for the past few weeks was doing strange things to her leg muscles, and if she were planning on carrying on, which she was, they needed a bit of a stretch. 

Wanda liked working out in the earlier hours of mid-morning. It often meant that she could work out alone, away from the prying eyes of the staff or even the other Avengers. 

Except, this time, the gym wasn’t empty.

Instead of the still silence, she was accustomed to, the regular huffs and groans of a male voice punctured the scene, bringing her attention to the pull-up bar in the far corner. The sight made Wanda halt on the spot. The voice’s owner - one long-haired, muscle-bound, metal-armed amputee - announced his actions loudly, gently lowering himself and ascending in a steady rhythm. His skin shone as bright at the vibranium that made up his prosthetic limb. 

Noticing her arrival, the man turned, allowing her a view of his laboured expression, which lit up with a smug grin. 

“Hey,” he breathed, letting go of the bar and landing perfectly on the floor of the gym. He reached for a nearby towel, washing off the equipment. “You’re looking a little flustered.”

She glared at him, making no effort to hide her slowly encroaching blush. He grinned, strutting over to her with his towel over his arm.

“There might be a reason for that,” she said in a dangerous tone, levelling her stare at his eyes, refusing to glance any lower.

“You’re right,” he shrugged. “it is pretty hot in here. Like a furnace, even.”

She rolled her eyes at the giant grin and spread on his face.

“So, what is this? Payback?” she asked, squaring up to him.

“Might be,” he offered. “Is it working?”

She crossed her arms.

“Of course not.”

He scoffed.

“I think you’re lying.”

“And why’s that?”

He smirked, reaching his hand down to grip her wrist in his fingers. Wanda gasped lightly, her eyelids fluttering closed despite herself.

“Because your pupils are dilated and your heart’s beating twice a second.”

Before she had the chance to protest otherwise, or perhaps take advantage fo his proximity, he removed himself, taking a few deliberate steps out of her reach. Her eye found his yet again, a newfound flame of agitation burning within her.

“Sorry,” he smiled. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“That’s one word for it,” she replied stiffly. Bucky hummed.

“To be fair, with all the distractions you’ve been throwing my way, you kinda asked for it,” he grinned. 

He didn’t expect to see Wanda’s irritated scowl slowly morph into a satisfied, sly smile. She took a step forward, reinserting herself into his personal space, making him hesitate for a few vital moments. Just long enough for her to reach to his eye level.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I did.”

Suddenly, Bucky wasn’t sure who was in control anymore.

“Because this is exactly what I wanted. You, opening yourself up. And if I have to suffer your flirting to make it happen... well, I suppose I shall have to bear it,” Wanda sighed dramatically, fluttering her eyelashes. “Oh, poor me. How will I manage?”

The following smirk that crept onto Wanda’s face threatened to tear open James’ chest. Her eyes darkened in a way that could have willed him to his knees if he weren’t already paralysed. He let out a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Fair play,” he applauded, trying not to trip over his own tongue. “Fair play, doll.” 

“Thank you,” she replied brightly, brushing an invisible hair off of this shoulder, taking a moment to guide her hands down his arms, all the way to his wrist. “Your pupils are dilated, by the way.”

“I’m sure they are.”

The two studied each other for a long while, having their silent argument on whether or no to pull away. About whether they should walk away, get on with their lives, or perhaps throw caution to the wind. For a moment, it looked like they would do just that. 

Except, Bucky knew that if they did, it wouldn’t be right. Now wasn’t the right time. Too early. Just a little bit too early. However, he could see it, on the horizon, and he was sure she could see it too, considering the way she was looking at him right at that moment, her lips parted ever so slightly. He could give in, but he was done with giving in. 

The time would come soon enough. Until then…

“Sam wants us on the field by nine o’clock,” James said, intertwining his fingers with her’s. “I’d appreciate the corset.”

“As long as you wear the jacket,” she replied. He squinted, to which she tilted her head sweetly. “You look good in blue.”

James smiled, feeling the fire in his chest settle into a steady, thrumming rhythm, one that, from the feeling of Wanda’s vein against his fingertips, matched her’s beat for beat.

“Consider it done.”


	6. Benign

Training had been tough recently. Really tough. James just assumed that when Sam said that he would be ramping up his workout regime that the increase would be incremental. He was absolutely wrong. Sam had been working them to the bone, each and every day, trying to whip them into a team that could rival the Avengers’ prime. Recently, they had been building to this new move - the ‘Riley Maneouvre’ as Sam had alluded to it - that was so complex and required so much practise, that James wasn’t sure if it were even possible.

It got to the point where even Brunn was starting to feel the strain. At that point, Sam finally took the hint.

Inevitably, when the last weekend of the month came along, and Sam had decided that they had earned a break, they all jumped at the opportunity.

Parker had gone back to New York, deciding to catch up with his aunt and his friends (and probably his girlfriend, too, not that he was aware that the rest of the team knew of her). Scott and Hope had taken off to a local resort, probably on a date. Probably not. They didn’t seem the type for pronounced romantic gestures. James didn’t even realise they were dating until Sam reminded him one evening after yet another session. Ava had chosen to stay at the compound, fiddling with her new suit. Rhodey had booked out the hot tub for the whole of Saturday. Brunn decided to return to New Asgard, and surprisingly Pietro had gone with her. Something about picking up Asgardian chicks. He probably also wanted to see if his faster metabolism could help him drink Brunn under the table. 

James, mostly out of morbid curiosity, couldn’t wait to see the aftermath of Pietro’s weekend. 

Before James could plan his own holiday, however, Wanda had taken him aside and informed him that it had already been taken care of. By her. Safe to say, James was extremely excited. 

For a while.

It wasn’t the idea of spending time with Wanda that put him off - lord knows he considered every second with her worth its weight in gold. Instead, it was what they were currently doing with that day off that perplexed him.

Instead of heading out to a nearby tourist trap or going on a secluded hiking trip - or any of the usual weekend jaunts that people do when they have free time - James found himself standing in front of the once place he didn’t think he would ever be. A petting zoo.

Suffice to say, with most of the other attendants barely reaching his waist, James felt very out of place. 

“Wanda,” James asked, squeezing past a family, “Why are we here exactly?”

“I wanted a change of scenery, get out of the compound, for once,” she replied casually. “Besides, there’re some little ones here that are waiting to meet you.”

“Are they human?”

Wanda put on a bright, innocent smile. 

“Not exactly.”

Eventually, after much meandering past several loitering families - with James doing his best to not step on any of the baby children - the couple arrived at their destination. The enclosure was blocked off by a stone wall, disloyal short by his standards, but it towered over the area’s inhabitants. Peering just over the edge, James caught sight of several small, furry mounds, all of which owning a pair of long, floppy ears, with a round ball of fluff as a tail. They sat, almost motionless, buried in hay, perfectly content with doing absolutely nothing. 

“Bunnies,” James noted aloud, to which Wanda nodded. “We came all this way to look at bunnies.”

“Not just look,” Wanda corrected. He turned to her, confused, ready to ask what she meant, just as she opened the gate and beckoned him inside. He followed, hesitantly, watching his every step so as not to crush any of the tiny animals.

Standing inside the pen was a young staff member, kitted out in a green uniform, with a cap and gloves. She had a broad smile on her face. James could only assume she loved bunnies as much as Wanda did.

“Hi,” she greeted them, shaking their hands. “I’m Hailey. I’ll just be showing you guys about how to hold the rabbits, and such.” She crouched down, reaching out for a rabbit that had fully buried itself in straw. “Come on, out you come.” She lifted the small mammal out of its nest, causing it to shiver, its ears flapping as it did so. Wanda looked like she was about to explode with delight. 

“This one is called Wilbur. He’s a very docile rabbit,” she announced, presenting the small creature to James. The man hesitated, slowly reaching his arms out to hold Wilbur. Wanda was presented with her own rabbit - a bright red bunny called Natasha, which Wanda accepted giddily - the couple sat on a pair of stools just to their left. 

James allowed Wilbur to scuffle on his lap, trying to find a comfortable spot. He kept his hands to his sides, not daring to touch the tiny animal. Because, as soon as it had been put into his arms, the rabbit had ceased to be a rabbit. 

Despite his best intentions, James couldn’t help but look past the fur, done to the muscles, stretching and contracting past its skin, predicting where its skeleton would be. All the most efficient ways that he could stop its heart fro, beating.

He could kill this rabbit. The thought is fleeting, but it sticks with him. If he really wanted to, he could kill this little animal. Just a quick snap of the neck. He could do it.

But he doesn’t. Because that’s the last thing he wants to do, not to this cute little bunny rabbit. Not to Wilbur. 

It’s true, there are probably a thousand ways he could end this rabbit. It would be easy. But that’s not James Barnes talking. That’s the voice of the Winter Soldier and the many, many years of military training forced upon him by HYDRA. James Barnes, as he knows himself, does not want to hurt this rabbit. Not one bit.

So, despite the many hundreds of methods of ending the animal’s life available to him, James is relieved to see that his hands aren’t acting on a single one. Instead, they cup Wilbur’s belly, supporting his legs as he finally settles into his grasp. Seconds pass, and he’s still holding the rabbit firmly in his hands. It’s still breathing, steady, relaxed. This thing is in his immediate care, entirely at his mercy. And yet, it lives. Because James wants it to because he couldn’t imagine anything he would want to do less.

The notion of even harming Wilbur is flushed unceremoniously from his brain, banished to never return. And he sees a fluffy pillow of cuteness and innocence again. The bunny stops being a collection of fur, muscle, skeleton, impulses ... the rabbit is a rabbit again. 

The skin of James’ good hand registers the feeling of soft fur, digging into a cushion of fat. His metallic hand is stroking away at the rabbit’s back, softly. It’s a feeling that’s therapeutic in all the right ways.

James looks up at Wanda for the first time, only to be met with her expectant stare. Something clicks in his brain. This was deliberate. Everything he was feeling at that moment, his sudden epiphany, all orchestrated by her.

He doesn’t give her nearly enough credit. 

“You know, we could have done this with a cat,” James pointed out. Wanda smiles, going back to stroking her bunny.

“Hmm,” is her only reply.

“But you like bunnies more,” he deduced. Wanda smirked.

“Who said this trip was just for you?”

Wanda hooked her hands under her rabbit’s front legs, lifting it up gently so that they were face-to-face. 

“Who’s a cute widdle bunny wabbit?” she cooed as if she were talking to a small baby - which is an image he really shouldn’t find as attractive as he does. “Yes, you are!”

James can only smile.

“They are pretty cute.”

After a long and joyous session of fussing over Natasha, Wanda looked back at the bunny in James’ hands, and her smile flourished into something magical.

“Look, James,” she whispered, “Wilbur’s fallen asleep.”

James lowered his gaze, only to find that the rabbit in his hands had indeed dozed off, his nose twitching every so often. A sudden feeling of emotion washed over him. This little animal, however simple, had trusted him enough to fall asleep on him.

“So he has…” James croaked, realising what it meant. He smiled down at the bunny. “Probably dreaming about carrots, eh little guy?”

“Shh, don’t wake him!” Wanda exclaimed quietly. “Let him sleep!”

“Sorry,” he chuckled. 

Eventually, the pen was opened up again, and a new group of people were allowed in. One of them was a small boy, with sandy-blonde hair stuffed under a cap, who walked up to James’ side, eyeing Wilbur wistfully. James held the rabbit up to the kid. 

“You wanna hold him?” The boy nodded. “Alright, but be gentle now. Steady…” The boy opened up his hands, and James lowered the bunny into them. “There you go.” The boy showed off a toothy grin, jostling Wilbur just a bit too enthusiastically. “Oops! Keep a hold on him. Perfect. See, look how happy he is.”

James didn’t notice the look on Wanda’s face as he sent the young boy off with Wilbur, but if he did, he might have noted how similar it looked to the one he had worn a few minutes before. The look of someone replacing blonde hair with brown.

The feeling of a presence, just to her side, bringing Wanda out of her musings. Just by her shoulder was a young girl of maybe three of four years of age, with chestnut hair and two unfortunate buck teeth. She was currently studying the bunny rabbit in Wanda’s arms with incredible intensity.

“Would you like to hold this one?” Wanda asked. The girl shook her head.

“No, thank you,” she announced. 

“Oh. Okay.” A few seconds passed, and yet the girl refused to move from her spot by her shoulder. Wanda glanced around. She didn’t seem to be accompanied by anyone; no one was paying the little girl any attention whatsoever. Except her. It was about a minute later when Wanda decided to investigate. “Are you lost?”

“No, I’m just looking for the squirrels,” the girl explained. Wanda blinked. 

“Pardon?”

“The squirrels,” the toddler repeated. “My mom said this place has squirrels, but I can’t find them.”

Wanda sighed.

“I’m not sure they have squirrels here, sweetie.”

The girl’s face fell.

“Oh…”

Her head hung low, and Wanda’s eyes followed it downwards, where she noticed the embroidered squirrel on the little girl’s jumper, as well the small rubber squirrels dotted on her trainers. 

“But they do have rabbits,” Wanda quickly added, trying to brighten her spirits, “and rabbits are just as cool.”

The little girl took a moment to look at Natasha again.

“Their tails are so small,” she pointed out.

“I know,” Wanda replied, “but their ears are huge!” She offered one gently to the girl. “Here...”

The toddler took the bunny’s ear in his small fingers, feeling it softly. A little grin erupted on her face. 

“Hehehe,” she giggled in a way that warmed Wanda’s heart, “funny ears!”

“Doreen!” A voice cried for, behind them. Wanda turned on her stool, spying a middle-aged woman rushing towards them. “Oh, there you are!” 

The woman flung her arms around the little girl, hugging her tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” she said to Wanda, after she took a moment to calm down, “I had no idea she just wandered off like that.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda smiled, “we were just petting some rabbits, weren’t we, Doreen?”

Doreen nodded. The woman, presumably Doreen’s mother, smiled.

“Thank you. Come on, Doreen. Let’s go back to the car.”

Doreen, however, wasn’t finished with Wanda just yet.

“Are you Scarlet Witch?” she asked. Wanda nodded.

“Yes, I am.”

Doreen then turned to the man by her side.

“And you’re Bucky Barnes.”

James smiled, chuckling to himself. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“When I grow up, I want to be a superhero, like you,” Doreen announced, puffing her chest out. James raised his eyebrows in awe.

“Really?”

“Mm-Hmm.”

“Do you have any powers?”

Doreen faltered, taking a second to think. 

“... I like squirrels. Can I be Squirrel Girl?”

James grinned, shrugging.

“Of course you can!”

“Yay!”

“And if we ever need help beating a tough bad guy,” Wanda encouraged, lowering herself down to Doreen’s level, “we’ll know who to call.”

“Squirrel Girl!” Doreen exclaimed happily.

“Well, that does sound wonderful,” Doreen’s mother interjected, “However, Squirrel Girl here needs to go home now.”

“I do?” Doreen asked forlornly.

“I’m afraid so, young lady.”

“Oh.” Doreen turned back to the two Avengers. “I have to go now. Bye-bye.”

And with that, the young girl and her mother took off, hand in hand, back towards the car park. 

“Mummy,” the pair heard across the crowd, “I’m going to be an Avenger one day.”

“We’ll see, Doreen-”

“Squirrel Girl!”

“Sorry... Squirrel Girl,” Doreen’s mother corrected herself before the two disappeared into the crowd. 

“Do you think we’ll see Squirrel Girl again the future?” Wanda giggled. 

“I’d be disappointed if we don’t,” James laughed. “I’d like to have seen Squirrel Girl go up against Thanos. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

"How?"

“Well,” James said slyly, “They always did say he was nuts.”

Wanda would have definitely hit him if it weren’t for the rabbit sitting peacefully in her arms.

The two stayed there for a while yet, making a full day out of it. It was surprisingly fun, in the end, meeting each of the animals, and a couple of adoring fans. Overall, it was definitely a nice change of pace. 

Since the petting zoo was a way off from the compound, the two decided to turn their day trip into a weekend and visit the local town for some sightseeing. That meant, but the time they finally returned to the compound, on Sunday evening, the news of how Pietro and Brunn’s drinking match had gone reached them very quickly.

Some had gone so far as to call it an international incident.

Pietro rotated between calling it the best or worst night of his life.

Brunn had simply told them that Pietro was welcome back to New Asgard any time he wanted. So long as he brought his own canoe next time.

No one except Brunn ever found out what she meant by that, but judging by the way Pietro adopted a thousand-yard stare every time the word ‘canoe’ found its way into a conversation, the team decided they simply didn’t need to know


	7. Nine

James had never expected it to happen, but, amazingly, the day had arrived. For the first time since hearing about the damned thing, the new Avengers had finally managed to pull off the Riley Manoeuvre. It was far from perfect - there were plenty of kinks to iron out, for sure - but it at least proved that it was possible. And possibility always lead to improvement.

The dreaded manoeuvre was one that pooled all of the New Avengers' skills together, creating an attack formation that certainly trumped all of them running in a line. It also required incredibly precise timing and a lot of stamina.

In theory, it was relatively simple. Wanda would begin by erecting a large barrier in front of the team, effectively halting the enemy in their tracks and at the same time providing cover for them all to convene under. Next came Ava and Pietro - who recently had been training extensively together, dedicated to finding ways to complement each other on the battlefield - who acted as infiltration and disruption, disorientating the enemy ranks. The pair were tasked with doing this just before the forcefield came down. This all meant that the next phase, consisting of Scott (in his giant form) and Brunn (on her pegasus whom the team had affectionately dubbed 'Peggy'), would have a much easier time ripping through the opposing forces once Wanda dropped the shield, with Hope, Rhodey and Sam as air support. Once the initial surge was finished, the more powerful players were free to wreak havoc in the front, whilst the air support reconvened to support the cavalry - aka, Wanda, James and Peter - acting as a second wave.

Four distinct phases. All seemed simple enough. However, the twist was that Sam wanted this done in under half a minute.

Safe to say, coordinating nine key players to act in unison and with any sort of speed was easier said than done.

The main problem had been simply not tripping over everyone's feet. Brunn certainly wasn't one to slow down, which meant that often Wanda had little time, if any at all, to collapse her forcefield. This often lead to Brunn and Peggy crashing against the red barrier like flies on a windshield. Convincing an irate pegasus to hurl itself at a wall of impenetrable energy over and over again had been a huge pain in the backside - literally, in Pietro's case, when he risked standing behind the great winged horse for a moment too long.

Speaking of red energy, it turned out creating barriers on the scale that Sam had asked for was a timely process, one that required a lot of practise for Wanda to accomplish with any urgency. It was also trifling work, even for a reality bender like the Scarlet Witch.

It also soon became apparent that Pietro and Ava's teamwork needed a bit of refining. Not that they weren't friendly with each other - in fact, they were fast becoming good friends - but the two of them weren't working as one unit, rather as two rogue infiltrators. This worked fine, except for when Pietro ran in for an assist, only to be clocked by a limbed that had, until that very moment been phasing.

The rest had been fairly clockwork, barring a time when Peter ad accidentally webbed up Hope only for her to plummet. He still wasn't done apologising, even to this day.

But finally, after probably hundreds of hours of trial and error, the team stood victorious, having using their newfound technique to vaporise the training dummies in their way. They still hadn't managed to get the procedure down to less than a minute, but for the first successful attempt, it was a sign of the team progressing smoothly.

So, of course, to celebrate the momentous landmark, Sam had ordered a group photo. A photo which James was currently hanging on the wall of their living quarters.

It depicted the nine New Avengers, all standing in a huddle, their arms looping over each other's shoulders. As was ordered, masks had been removed, allowing a view of each of their smiling faces. Despite clearly apparating tired from the strenuous day of activity, each smile was a sight to behold.

James spotted himself, just off to the side, leaning casually against Wanda. Even he is smiling, a genuine, albeit weary smile. Wanda was constantly telling him he should smile more, that it brightens up his face. Now, looking at it, he could somewhat agree.

He took a step back, glancing down the rest of the hall, along the line of photos hanging just like the one in front of him. All framed photos of previous iterations of the Avengers. The first was one taken shortly after the Battle of New York, made in order to satisfy the press. The Original Six, as they were called. Just like in the newest photo, they appeared tired, their faces covered in dust and a sprinkling of blood - human and Chitauri. James' eyes fell upon Steve, wearing the dumbest outfit he has ever seen, a bright, skintight, spangled version of his original uniform. He looked embarrassed to be wearing it. Or maybe it was because of Romanoff's arm that just so happened to be gripping onto his side, palming his waist appreciatively. Nat's smile was just a little too innocent.

The second photo was one of the team after the incursion with Ultron, including the revamped lineup of members. Only two of the Original Six remained: Steve and Nat, standing tall and proud amongst the new recruits. Even back then, they looked so suited to each other. It's a wonder it took them so long to see it. By their sides stood Sam, Wanda, Vision and Rhodey. James' heart sank seeing Vision again, so young and so enthusiastic. So unaware of the painful years ahead of him.

The third photo was a candid one, taken after the five years that followed the first Snap, of the remaining Avengers, including Rocket and Nebula, crowded around a dinner table. There was clearly a ruckus going around, one which Clint, Scott, Rocket and Bruce are engaged in - Scott was leaning across the table, eyeing each of them as he talked. Tony looked on tiredly, as did Thor, Nebula and Rhodey were merely sitting quietly, not eating but not talking. Steve and Natasha looked caught up in their own little world. James laughed. They really are the biggest idiots in the world.

And now, there was a fourth. A new team, up there along with the very best of them. James gazed at the newest photo once again, taking in the image of all of them, standing side by side. And there he was as well. Up with the greats. All of them are, together.

“It’s still hard to believe, that I’m here."

The voice caught James off guard. He swivelled, finally noticing Ava, who had somehow managed to sneak up on him. She was staring at the photo pensively, her head titled slightly, her hands wrapped in the fraying edges of her favourite jumper.

"It seems strange to think that I'm one of you guys," she continued, in her typically timid tone of voice.

“Well, you are. See, look," he pointed at her face, situated amongst the others. "You’re in the group photo." She nodded absently. "You don’t look convinced.”

“I'm not, really," she replied bluntly. She bit her lip, searching for the right words. "If someone had told me a few years ago that one day I’d be in a photo with the Avengers, as one of them… I would’ve never believed them.”

“And why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it," she said, trying to sound nonchalant, a hint of melancholy bleeding through despite herself. "Because it feels like a happy ending, which is something I really don’t think I’ve earned.”

“Then you know what you need to do, don’t you?" James asks, prompting her to turn towards him expectantly. "Earn it. You chose to come here. You made the choice to save people. That’s step one. Staying, committing to it, that’s step two.”

“How will I know when I’ve finally earned it?”

James thought for a moment.

“That’s something only you can answer," he explained. Her disappointed face promoted him to elaborate. "You know I once in the exact same position as you were. I didn't think I would ever be a hero, or that I'd ever make up for my mistakes."

"But you didn't choose to hurt people," she argued. A heavy, burdened sigh followed. "I did."

"No, you didn't," he replied sharply. "I read your file. You were coerced, indoctrinated, by people who didn't care about you or your wellbeing. It wasn't your fault that you turned out the way you did. And after that, you were fighting for your life, against a condition that caused your constant pain. No one blames you for trying to survive."

"But I still did those things. I've still killed people."

"We've all killed people. There hasn't been a single Avenger without blood on their hands. Look at me... But it doesn't matter what you did, or what you used to be." James gestured to the frame hanging on the wall. "Take a look at that photo. Take a good, long look. You're there because you chose to be there, with us. No one would have blamed you for choosing an easy life, after what you've been through. But you didn't. To me that says more about you than your past ever will."

James allowed Ava a moment to study the photo, specifically the space she occupied within it. He watched her eyes scan across the frame, taking it in. He could almost see the moment her mind registered who she was standing with, and how snugly she fit right in. It was like fireworks going off behind her pupils.

"I'm an Avenger," she whispered.

"Yes, Ava. You're an Avenger."

A small laugh fell past her lips, her hands grasping the fabric of her jumper tightly.

"That's going to take some getting used to," she said cheerily.

"It sneaks up on you," James replied. He nodded to himself. A pretty good pep talk, if he did say so himself. Perhaps all that therapy was finally rubbing off on him. "Come on, I've heard Sam's making pasta."

"One more thing," she said before he had the chance to walk away. "Who was Riley?"

James opened his mouth to explain, but then he paused. Slowly he closed his jaw, shaking his head,

"That's Sam's story to tell, not mine," he answered, before smiling lightly. "Ask him, if you're curious. I'm sure he won't mind."

He left Ava to gaze at the picture some more, allowing her more time to the greatest proof of her own redemption. Proof that she had found a proper place in the world. Just like him. Just like all of them.

James made sure to tell Sam how proud Riley would have been. How proud he and Steve already were. He meant every word.


	8. Homecoming

“A what?” James asked in disbelief.

“A camping trip,” Sam replied, more to the gathered assembly of each of the male Avengers, than to any single person. “Just the five of us. For the weekend. What do you think?”

When Sam had called them all into the living area of the compound, spouting something about an urgent matter, this was definitely not what James had expected. He assumed it would have been to do with the recent growing activity of ex-HYDRA agents around the globe or something about the sudden renewed interest in the Sokovia Accords. In fact, camping was the last thing that James expected to come out of Sam’s mouth.

“Sam,” James began, “I haven’t been camping since I was twelve.”

“Well, I thought it could be a good team-building exercise,” Sam explained, crossing his arms.

“Are the girls coming?” Pietro asked between mouthfuls of cereal.

“Of course not! This is a boys trip. A proper outdoor wilderness experience.” 

“But I happen to like girls,” Pietro protested.

“Me too,” James nodded.

“Very much,” Scott joined in from his place on the arm of the sofa.

“What do they think about all this?” James asked.

“They’re thrilled,” Sam replied. James cocked an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yep!” Wanda called from the other side of the room, spying the boys contently with her own bowl of fruit. By her side sat Hope, Brunn and Ava, all similarly perched at stools around the island in the kitchen. “In fact, while you boys are off camping, we’re going to be doing more civilised things.”

“Like what?” James called back.

“A spa weekend, of course,” Wanda exclaimed. James smiled, remembering how many times Wanda had told him about a nearby spa that offered group weekend as a package deal. 

“Of course.”

“Two days of nothing but rest and relaxation,” Wanda grinned.

“And pampering?” James offered. Wanda nodded pertly.

“Especially pampering.”

James glanced around to the other women.

“For some reason, I can’t imagine Brunn down for being pampered.”

“Actually she was the one to suggest it,” Hope replied.

James squinted at her. 

“Seriously?”

“‘Course I was,” the Asgardian protested. “Just because I like getting my hands dirty doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the finer things in life. I am queen, after all.”

“Oh, now you’re a queen,” Sam scoffed. Brunn merely grinned.

“When it’s useful.”

“Pampering does sound nice…” Scott murmured longingly.

“Hey, focus,” Sam snapped his fingers, bringing the boys’ attention back to him. “I’ve found a nice forest in Michigan—"

“Michigan?!” James cried.

“Sam, that’s miles away!” Rhodey sounded for the first time since he arrived, preferring to stand just beside the sofa.

“Well, it’s not really camping if we just pitch a tent in the back yard, is it?” Sam pointed out irritably. 

“How are we getting there?” Rhodey asked.

“I’ve rented an SUV,” Sam offered. “We’ll be driving there in the morning, setting up by midday.”

“What time in the morning?” Rhodey asked dangerously.

Sam shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“Three o’clock,” he said quietly.

“Three?!” Pietro cried through his cornflakes.

“We wanna get there nice and early, don’t we?” Sam retorted. “Get the most out of the day.”

“I guess, but three o’clock?” James whined. “Couldn’t we just take the Quinjet.”

“That’s for official Avengers business only,” Sam said sternly. “Besides, we can make a road trip out of it.”

“At least tell me the car’s a seven-seater,” Rhodey begged.

“Of course it is,” Sam replied. Rhodey sighed, visibly deflating, along with the others, who sat a little more comfortable in their seats. “I wouldn’t be able to fit the tent otherwise.”

“'Tent'?” Pietro repeated. “Singular?”

“Relax!” Sam added quickly. “Relax, it’s a big one.”

“I should hope it’s a big one,” Rhodey warned.

“It has more than enough room for each of us, easily,” Sam elaborated. “Trust me, I’ve thought this through.”

He clearly had, James noted, couldn’t fault him there. 

“But why camping?” James asked.

“Because it’s a chance for us to get away from it all, get back to the real world,” Sam explained. He sighed. “We’re all so caught up in saving the universe business recently that I think this will help us gain a little perspective. You know what I mean?”

James paused. He had to admit, he couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten away from the superhero life, properly. It seemed like his life was almost becoming monotonous. Days were starting to blend together. Jame supposed it was a side effect of his constant work on the Avengers, the notion of saving the world becoming so much more typical to him. Perhaps they did need a little perspective.

“I guess,” James shrugged. “Eh, what the hell. I’m willing to give it a shot. How about you guys?”

They didn’t look nearly as convinced.

“Are we having a barbecue?” Scott asked after a long pause. Sam shrugged.

“If you can work one,” he offered. Scott smiled.

“Okay, I’m in.”

Sam then turned to the ex-colonel.

“Rhodey?”

The man glanced around, crossing his arms, staring off into space.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for camping,” he said in a way that could be construed as an affirmative. “Just one question, what happens if there’s a crisis while we’re away?”

Sam’s face adopted a small smile.

“Let’s just say I called in some help,” Sam provided, stepping aside to give them a better view of the woman walking through the door. The woman with short blonde hair and a bright, wide smile.

“Hey, guys,” Carol waved, before strolling up to Sam and shaking his hand. 

“Captain,” he greeted properly.

“Captain,” she smirked back.

“Oh, great. Now they’re showing off,” Rhodey muttered. 

As soon as proper greetings were accomplished, Carol walked over to the girls’ table, where she wound her arms around Brunn, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Hi, honey,” she cooed. Even more surprising was, instead of resisting, Brunn happily accepted Carol’s embrace. 

James quickly put two and two together.

“When did you two have time for…” he gestured vaguely.

“Oh, here and there,” was Carol’s non-answer, too busy with snuggling the Valkyrie in her arms.

“So, let me guess, you’re here for the spa as well,” James grinned.

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it,” Carol confirmed, looking slightly proud of herself.

“She’ll provide a little extra back up for the girls,” Sam explained, “just in case they’re needed elsewhere.”

“What do you say, girls, you think we can manage without them?” Carol asked, resulting in a loud cheer from the ladies present. 

James laughed along with them. He too was very sure the girls would cope without them. It was whether they could cope without the girls that worried him.

*

Two days of rest and relaxation had done her good, Wanda thought as she sipped on a glass of evening wine. It had done all of the girls a world good, in fact. Carol, as it turned out, was a delight to be around. She was always smiling, joking, talking to each of them. No wonder Sam brought her in. 

In some wondrous stroke of luck, they didn’t hear a peep of a crisis during the last couple of days. Not one distress signal or alarm. Wanda knew it couldn’t possibly last, but for now, she was happy being not needed.

At the moment, she chose to spend her time gazing out of the living room window, looking out onto the driveway where, in a couple of hours, James and the other boys would be pulling up in their SUV. She had no idea how they had gotten on during their little camping adventure - Sam had demanded a full technology-disconnect during their trip - so her only clue as to whether it was a success would be from the boys themselves.

Honestly, camping in the remote beauty of a forest lake sounded like an incredible time. Wanda hoped that one day, maybe she and James could go, together. Just the two of them. 

Then again, that would have to wait for when they were ready. When they finally decided to give this unspoken thing between them a chance. Until then, she was happy helping him as a friend, as a teammate, as...

Her thoughts were interrupted as she noticed the gleam of a silver SUV through the trees. 

She sat upright, placing her glass on the coffee table, peering out to confirm her suspicions. Sure enough, the boys’ car swerved into a view.

It had certainly changed since the last time she saw it.

Long scratches ran along the sides of the doors. A bumper had been taken clean off. The entire body was covered in a thin sheen of mud and dirt. 

It looked it had been dragged through a war zone.

Stifling her shock, Wanda quickly ran down through the building, out into the drive, where the not-so-happy campers were currently disembarking. They all looked tired, cross and, from the smell of soil permeating around them, like they had been soaked through. 

“Oh my god!” Wanda exclaimed, trying desperately not to break into giggles.

James gave her a weary stare.

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh, I’m gonna ask,” Wanda scoffed. “What happened?”

“Scott happened,” Pietro murmured as he climbed out of the SUV.

“More like Pietro happened!” Scott barked from inside the vehicle.

“Hey, man, I didn’t set fire to the tent.”

“No, but you almost set fire to the forest!”

“At least we would have been warm!” 

Wanda brushed past her brother, her hand ran across the deep lacerations carved into the metal bodywork.

“What are these?” Wanda asked. Rhodey shrugged.

“Bear.”

Wanda’s eye widened to the size of saucers.

“Bear?!” she cried. “A bear did this?”

“Well, it wasn’t a squirrel,” James replied sarcastically. “Please don’t ask.”

“Okay, okay. I will laugh, though.”

James merely looked on dispassionately.

“Go ahead.”

She attempted forcing a chuckle, but trying to laugh at James’ forlorn expression was about as satisfying as shooting a wounded animal. Wanda sighed.

“You don’t make this easy, you know?” she smiled. “Come on. I’ll make you a coffee.”

The corners of James’ lips turned upwards in some vain attempt at a smile.

“Yes, please.”

She escorted the tired centenarian inside, quickly brewing him a mug of warm drink while he showered and changed into something warm. The two met on one of the couches in the living area, settling down side by side.

One draw of his tea had James falling back into the cushions with a wide grin.

“Now,” Wanda cooed, rubbing his arm, “tell me what happened.”

And he did.

Not that Wanda could believe half of it.

His tale, outlandish to even his ears, consisted of an out of control campfire, a broken tent, a traitorous protest in the SUV and an early morning bear attack, all capped off by a plunge in the lake. 

By the time he was finished, Wanda had rolled off of the couch, her laughter threatening to split her sides. It was only a few minutes later that Wanda tried to compose herself.

“Sounds like you had quite a time,” she murmured, wiping away a few tears.

“Yeah,” James admitted, grinning despite his best efforts, “you could say that. I’m just glad to be home.”

Wanda paused, her face falling in surprise.

“‘Home’?” she repeated. James looked at her, realising what he had said. His brow furrowed, gazing at the floor for a long while, processing. After a moment, he turned back to her.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking her in the eye. “Home.”

Wanda had seen far bigger smiles adorn James face over the years, but the one he was wearing at that moment shone like the sun, his eyes twinkling like the stars. 

In her opinion, Wanda had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tempted to write a full story solely based on the camping trip because I have a lot of ideas. It all depends on if you guys want to see it.


	9. One

The good times never last - at least, not forever. For every good day, there must be a bad day. For every victory, there’s a catastrophe, right around the corner. 

James’ life for the longest time had been nothing but bad days for the longest time. It was only recently that his life had changed for the good, that he had finally starting experience some good days. Some of the best days of his life, in fact. 

But he always knew, even from the beginning, every day was just another step towards that bad day. Possibly his worst day. 

He just didn’t expect it to be today.

It was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission with Sam and Wanda. Their intel from what was left of SHIELD had picked up activity around a local town in Argentina. HYDRA was currently scouting new recruits in the local area, within the poorer suburbs, places where they’d find the desperate and the discontent.

It was James’ job to find their scout, and bring him in.

Step one was successful. With Wanda’s help and Sam surveillance, they quickly managed to locate the right guy. Turned out, however, that the guy that HYDRA had sent was no joke. Somehow, he had been enhanced with cybernetics, rendering his faster, stronger, and overall more annoying than any of usual grunts James was experienced with.

Not that he was difficult to dispatch. It was just a matter of catching him first.

The chase had taken James up onto the rooftops, across several of the taller buildings in the town. He supposed that the HYDRA agent thought that he could lose the White Wolf if he took a route that required jumping from building to building. Obviously, he didn’t know the White Wolf as well as he thought.

Eventually, the race had brought them crashing into the window of an office block, straight into a crowded room of 9-to-5 workers. Quickly recovering from the landing, James reached out and grabbed his prey by the collar, tackling him with a roar.

They crashed through the thing drywall of the secretary’s office, hurling the HYDRA agent across a nearby desk. The body collided with a stack of papers, launching them everywhere. James followed up with a swift kick to the torso, sending the scout skidding backwards. One by one, the office workers were standing from their seats, some confused, some hurrying to the exits.

James glanced around to the people who were yet to move. 

“Go!” he bellowed, pointing to the door. “get out of here!”

He glanced back to the HYDRA agent, expecting him to start running again. He wasn’t. He was standing stock-still, glaring at him from underneath his sweat, matted hair. Something glinted in his hand - a metal objected topped with red. A long, copper wire fed into the agent’s backpack. 

James’ heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. 

He hurriedly reached out, grabbing the nearest person and hugging them close, shielding them from what he knew was coming.

The HYDRA agent gave him one last fleeting look and pushed the button.

Explosions ripped through the air. The room lit up, blinding James momentarily. The bang that followed deafened him. The person in James’ arms screamed. 

All of a sudden, the floor caved in. The fell. One story, two stories, three - James landed on his back winded by the abrupt stop. He looked up into a wall of debris falling towards them. He lifted his metal arm, just in time to block a piece of the ceiling from crushing them. 

He could feel the force of more and more weight piling on top of them, but he forced his arm to remain held high, baring it for the sake of the person lying against him. His shoulder screamed in pain. The dust in his lungs made his every breath sting. 

James thought it would never end, that the weight would keep piling on until his forearm snapped in half. Eventually, though, the surrounding debris came to a rest. The dust began to clear, and James could breathe again. 

He grunted, pushing against the layers and layers of the smashed ceiling. After a struggle, the debris began to lift, and before long, a sliver of light revealed his progress. 

One last push and they were free.

The light revealed who he had grabbed in his haste. It was a small girl, barely out of elementary school, her yellow dress crusted with dust. Two lines of tear tracks cut through the mess on her face, her eyes red, both from crying and from irritation. James kicked out the last piece of wall that was pinning them under, helping her get up off what was left of the ground.

When James finally stood, however, scanning what was left of the building, James almost wished they had stayed under.

The smell of blood invaded his senses. The dust in the air made his eyes water. 

An oppressive silence choked the scene.

James waited, for a piece of rubble to move, or come away, revealing a survivor, for the faint noise of someone crying for help. He waited for anything, anything, that would dispel his worst fears.

And so he waited… And waited…

The truth came crashing down on him harder than the ceiling ever could. 

The little girl, currently bawling in his arms, was the only survivor.

Everyone else was dead because he wasn’t fast enough.

He couldn’t understand the most of what the little girl was saying, but he knew she was crying for her parents. 

It was only later while talking to the local authorities that James learned that they too perished in the blast.

The next few days washed over James, as if they barely happened at all. As if not all of him made the return trip. In a way, that was true, because for the longest time he felt like was still there, stuck in that wreckage, surrounded by dust and rubble and silence, consumed by his own failure. He felt like he would never escape that day, that one awful moment born of his own mistake. 

It got to the point where Sam forced him to take time off active duty, at least until he had adequately recovered. Sam must have also told the rest of the Avengers to give him some space, because James didn’t receive any well-wishers, except for Wanda and Ava. 

The isolation didn’t help, however. It just made his thoughts louder. It just made the echoes of that child’s scream all the louder, until he could no longer sleep at night. He hadn’t told anyone how bad it had gotten. Perhaps if he admitted it, if he told someone, then it would all become real. 

But he needed to speak to someone. He needed to hear a voice outside of his own head.

James knew there was only one person that could help him now. And for that, he needed to take a trip back to the past.

The Quantum suits had been destroyed, the research that developed them erased, for the safety of the universe. However, the technology that powered them still existed, deep beneath the compound, in a single chamber, hidden behind ten individual security barriers.

It was perhaps the single most secure room on the planet, accessible to only five people on Earth. Luckily, that exclusive list happened to include him.

Once he was past the security barriers, an elevator took James deep beneath the ground, about a mile down by his count. The doors then opened to a small concrete room lit only by a few ambient lights. In the centre, connected by a single cable to an independent arc reactor, was a tall, glass capsule, encased in a white and red metal finish.

The quantum gate.

This machine was one of two, the only other in existence currently 70 years in the past. Exactly 70 years. The two machines, through some complicated augmentation of the remaining temporal GPS devices, were continually kept in sync with each other, creating a bridge between two points in time. Step in one capsule, step out of the other. It certainly wasn’t a replacement for the quantum suits - the capsule couldn’t take you anywhere else except to its twin - but it would be more than suited to James’ needs.

He opened the capsule, stepping inside and going through the preliminary procedures. Had to make sure no one else was in the machine on the other side. That would be a messy affair, to say the least. 

James exhaled - as he had been instructed to do - closed his eyes and pressed the ignition.

The world around him fell away for a moment before his feet found purchase again. James opened his eyelids, adjusting to the darkness. 

He found himself inside the other capsule, sitting within the walls of a wooden barn. A rusty tractor, adjacent to a disorganised workbench, sat lazily in the corner. 

James pushed against the glass, the door popped open, and the smell of grass soon met his senses. He took in a long, deep breath. He made it.

He steadily made his way to the barn doors, creaking them open, squinting as the bright light of the afternoon sun met his eyes. 

His gaze fell on a large homestead, recently renovated and given a delicate coat of white paint. The same house that Clint Barton would come to own some 50 years. Until then, it was is in the loving care of two of his very best friends.

A loud, squeaky bark from inside the house interrupted his thoughts. A golden retriever puppy came running up to him before he set foot on the porch, barking and ruffling all the way. It smiled at him, wagging its tail violently - so hard that it’s behind almost lifted off the ground. Its tongue flapped between its teeth in excitement.

James knelt down, meeting it with as best a smile as he could manage.

“Hey, bud,” he whispered, to which the tiny golden dog barked, wriggling around his hands as he tried to pet it.

“His name’s Dodger,” the amused voice of Natasha Romanoff called. James looked up, only to find her leaning against the doorway. “We got him a few months ago. I think Steve’s in love. Not sure whether I should be worried.”

James stood, embracing her in a tight hug.

“Hey, Nat.”

“Hey, you,” she grinned. “I’d invite you in for coffee, but I’m just about to head off for ballet class.”

“They teach ballet around here?” James asked as they disengaged. 

“No,” she replied, picking up a large duffel bag and shouldering it, “but I do. You’re probably here to see Steve.”

“Is he around?”

“Right now, he is. Rogers!” she bellowed into the hallway. “Get your ass down here, you have a guest!”

“Student?” Steve’s voice called from an upstairs window.

“Old friend,” Natasha replied. She caught James’ curious face from the corner of her eye. “Steve teaches art classes on Saturdays, at the local college. I join him sometimes, only every third session.”

“Every third?”

“That’s when he teaches life drawing. Or should I say we…” Her eyes darkened, and she smiled mischievously.

Before he could ask her what she meant, a set of heavy footsteps announced Steve’s arrival. He looked different from when James last saw him. His once clean-shaven face was now decorated with a short beard, similar to one he wore on the run. His hair was longer, darker, approaching a light brown. His eyes were bright and shining.

“Buck,” he grinned, wrapping his arm around him in a tight hug. “Good to see you.” A pat on each other’s back and the two separated. “Come on in.”

“Nice place you got here, punk,” James noted as he took in the decor. 

“We put a lot of work into it,” Natasha replied.

“Beard’s coming along nicely,” Jame noted, pointing to his friend’s chin.

“Mmm, isn’t it?” Natasha hummed. Steve smiled, rolling his eyes.

“You know, I wasn’t planning on growing it,” he admitted.

“What changed your mind?” James asked.

“I didn’t,” Steve chuckled, turning to give Natasha a particular look. “My razor disappeared. Along with every replacement I’ve bought since.”

Natasha shrugged.

“It’s a mystery,” she smirked. Steve merely shook his head.

“Any reason you decided to come along?” Steve asked, bending down to pat Dodger's head as the puppy began weaving around his legs. The smile on James’ face dimmed slightly.

“Actually, yes,” James replied. He glanced at Natasha, then back to Steve. “Can we…?”

Steve frowned, nodding. He glanced over James’ shoulder towards his fiancee.

“Sorry, Nat.”

“No, it’s okay,” Natasha nodded, “I get it. I’ll see you tonight, honey.”

“Sure thing, Nat,” Steve called after her. “I’ll make pot roast.”

James waited long enough so that she was out of earshot, before scoffing.

“‘Honey’?” he parroted, to which Steve merely laughed.

“You’ll understand when you fall in love,” he teased. “Speaking of which, how’s Wanda?”

“Yeah…” James sighed, his cheerful demeanour steadily diminishing. “Look... something’s happened.”

Steve’s face fell. His brow furrowed, and his idle gestures halted as he studied his best friend. He stood, allowing Dodger to trot away to chew on one of his toys.

“What’s up?” he asked. 

James shuffled, pocketing his hands. 

“We had a mission,” he murmured, his eyes falling to the hardwood floor, “just the other day. We managed to track a HYDRA informant, hiding out in a city block. I went in, tried to flush them out. Turns out it was a trap. Guy I was tailing lead me in- into a crowded office... and he detonated himself. The whole floor came down. All the people…” His voice gave out, forcing him to take deep breaths to calm himself. “I only saved one little girl, and ever since that day... I see her when I sleep, Steve. She’s an orphan, lost her parents in the blast. No one else survived... except for me…”

Steve remained silent throughout his tale, standing as a sentinel to his friend’s confession.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” he offered after a moment’s silence as if he struggled to find any other words. “That’s…”

“I just keep thinking,” James growled, “what’s the point? What’s the point if I can’t save people?”

“But you did.”

James barked a mirthless laugh, a mixture of anger and disgust.

“One person,” he spat. “Only one, Steve. Out of - what? - Two hundred? Maybe more. And even then... I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. If anything it’s my-“

“Don’t,” Steve interrupted, his voice piercing him like a cold knife. “Don’t even think about saying the rest of that sentence.”

“But—“James tried to argue, but Steve raised his hand.

“Sit down,” he ordered. James immediately complied, sating himself on a nearby chair. Steve pulled himself a second seat and landed heavily into it, exhaling tiredly. “Now you’re gonna listen to me…

“I’ve been going to the local bar recently. It’s a good place to socialise, helps me find friends, fit in a little better. There’s a group of people that go there every Friday - firefighters. Bravest men in the whole town. A few of them are veterans, looking for a way to get back into the world. We got talking. 

“Apparently, there was a fire down here a few years ago. It was the biggest any of them had ever seen. A whole factory went up, huge explosion, threatened to set the entire town on fire. Every firefighter in the area was called, and they all combed the site, looking for survivors. Every worker was accounted for. None of them survived. Not that they knew it at the time. They held out hope that maybe there was one who made it, that maybe there would be one lucky soul, to make it all seem worth it. 

“After that day... some quit the force. It was just too much for them, the weight of that failure. Those few that stayed were never the same again. It reminded them just how important their job really was. And they told me, they said whatever happens, wherever they go, whatever the job... every life, they told me, every life they save is a miracle. Every soul should be cherished. That’s how they live with the dark days, because even if a thousand lives are lost, if you can save just one person, if someone survives because of you, then you’re doing something right.

“I know, Buck, we’re superheroes. Saving one person should be expected. We should be able to do so much more than that. But it still applies. The fact is, Bucky, there’s a person out there, in your time, that’s alive, because of you. Whatever they’ve lost, they still have time, thanks to you. If you really care about them, follow up on them. Help them. Reassure them that they’re not alone. 

“Coming to me, talking about this with me, that’s great. What you’re feeling now, that’s healthy. If you need a break, the guest room’s always open. Just... don’t bury your feelings, Buck. It never works. It just makes it all worse.”

His words left James speechless.

It was rare to hear that kind of raw sincerity from Steve. He was always one, to be honest, but most of the time, it was through the lens of Captain America. Now, staring at his childhood friend who suddenly looked so much older than he had any right to be, it made James feel weak. In a good way. Like he had been dragging a weight that no one else could see, except Steve. 

The two of them just sat there in silence, for as long as he wanted, until eventually, the events of the previous few days came crashing down on him. He wasn’t ashamed of the tears that fell down his face, nor did he repel Steve’s arms bringing him in for a warm hug. A hug between brothers.

James took the offer of the guest room, helping Steve cook pot roast, eating in with him and Natasha, waking up the next day feeling lighter than he had in days. The experience of being surrounded by nature, completely isolated in a safe haven… it was intoxicating.

He almost thought about staying there forever. Then again, he had people in the future that needed him too, people who would worry about him. That fact alone made him feel like smiling again.

Later that evening, James found himself standing in front of Wanda’s door, waiting. He thought about knocking, but from the sudden tingling sensation in his brain, he knew that she noticed his arrival. The door soon opened, revealing Wanda’s concerned, expectant face. He almost fell into her arms, wrapping himself around her, causing to squeak in a way that makes him hold her tighter. She whispered his name, rubbing his back in circles.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair, “I just had to see him.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled in spite of her shining eyes. “I missed you. We all did.”

He smiled, stretching his cheek muscles to enhance the illusion. 

“Sure you did.”

Wanda gazed at him forlornly, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Of course we did.”

James eventually did get round to checking up on that little girl - Mia, he learned. A few strings pulled in the right areas got her a kind foster family, some financial aid and a long list of recommendations for the best therapists in the country. It would never replace her parents, but he doubted she would appreciate any more special treatment. He wrote to her, several long letters giving his condolences and wishing her happiness, along with his number and the compound address, should she ever need a few favours. 

It was a while before she wrote back. It wasn’t a long letter. A short note, written by her new foster parents on her behalf, thanking him and an update on her therapy. They told him that she had promised, for his sake, that she’d carry on going for as long as she needed, and that if she ever needed help, she would call. 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ease the pain of that day. 

James was back to active duty in a week, more determined than ever. HYDRA was going to pay, he promised himself, for everything they had done. One day would never be enough to undo all that he had worked so hard to build, all the progress he had made. It would never be enough.

Because every life saved, every single one was a miracle. 


	10. Freight Car

Every river has a source; every volcano has a fault. When it came to James’ endless storm of trauma, it all began on one day, in 1945.

That was the day when James Buchanan Barnes was officially declared MIA. The day he fell from the Schnellzug EB912, on a mission to capture Arnim Zola.

James rarely talked about it. It was often overshadowed by different, more horrible memories. His capture, his torture, his missions. It broke Wanda’s heart how many terrible memories he had buried inside his head. Far too many, even for a life as long as his.

It had all been building up to that day. Every one of Wanda and James’ therapy sessions had been edging around the fall for a while. But now there was no avoiding it. Tonight, they were going to tackle the root of his troubles head-on

They were going to revisit the climactic battle, fighting on a snowbound freight train, being blasted out into the icy waters, lost to the world. The day his life fell apart. 

However, this time, they were going to do it together. This time, James wouldn’t be alone in his reminiscence. He would have Wanda - help, a moment away at all times. It was perhaps the only reason he was willing to go back through his memories in the first place. The fact that Wanda was always with him, always ready to save him from his own twisted psyche. 

With this in mind, the two sat - James situated himself on the floor and Wanda perched just above him on the sofa, encompassing him on either side. Her hands deftly found his temples, and their two minds melded with practised precision until they were barely two separate entities.

The warm glow of Wanda’s bedroom dissolved, replaced with the steely grey of a freight car. In front of them, panting from the exertion, stood Bucky, his pistol smoking. Beside him stood Steve, clothed in his original uniform, a bright menagerie of straps and leather, red white and blue. There was not a hint of weariness in his demeanour, despite the exertion he and Bucky had just gone through while infiltrating the freight car.

“I had him on the ropes,” Bucky mumbled. Steve sighed with a hint of mirth. 

“I know you did,” he replied. 

Neither noticed the HYDRA soldier readying his weapon until it was too late. Steve threw James behind him, raising his shield just in time.

“Get down!”

The energy blast ricocheted off the shield, blasting a hole in the car, exposing them to the biting chill air. Steve and James were thrown backwards, leaving the shield spinning on the grated floor. They were vulnerable.

“Fire again!” Zola’s came shouted down the speakers. Bucky quickly scrambled to his feet, arming himself with Steve’s shield. “Kill him now!”

Bucky hurriedly fired off one, two, three shots from his pistol, bracing himself for the second blast that was yet to come. The HYDRA soldier fired, the shot barrelling into the shield and James felt his feet leave the ground.

He was flying through the air, into the cold, into the abyss. He reached out for something, anything that would stop him. His hand found purchase on a rail, stopping his fall, holding on tight as he swung into the broad face of the wreckage. Clutching desperately, he focused everything he had on keeping his fingers clasped around that bar. 

A moment later, Steve was there, looking out at him, his eyes wide.

“Bucky!” he cried, trying to navigate the broken shards of metal. He slowly began climbing across the wreckage. “Hang on!”

Bucky reached out, shifting along the rail, slowly making his way towards Steve, who was leaning out towards him.

“Grab my hand!” Steve bellowed over the wind. James strained, trying to swing himself closer, only for the groan of metal to stop him in his tracks. He risked a glance up to the edge of the railing. It was rattling loose, threatening to send him spiralling into the chasm that he knew lay just below him.

He knew it was now or never. He had to make it to Steve or all was lost. He reached, stretching his fingers towards Steve’s open hand, hearing the railing splinter as it lost the war against gravity. Steve desperately flailed forward, as far his body would allow. He knew what was coming. He knew what was about to happen

“No!” he bellowed, locking eyes with his best friend. The railing gave way, and James fell.

He cried as he plummeted, watching his brother-in-arms rush away from him, further and further until he and the train were barely a spec in the distance. 

He reached his arms, going against hope that his options could slow or halt his descent. 

His left arm crashed against the side of a rock, sending him spiralling into the frozen waters of the ravine.

The next time he found consciousness, he didn’t have a left arm.

The memories slowly mutated, the cold of the snowy Alps replaced with the bitterness of his cryo-chamber. His bloody, frostbitten face was reflected back at him, letting him watch as the ice took him under once again.

James’ features twisted into another’s. The wrinkled, round face of Arnim Zola grinned at him, watching as he was given a new limb. A limb of metal and cable. Unfeeling, yet still vulnerable to the pain of the procedure. 

James screamed. It changed nothing. They merely gagged him, and the pain continued. He received no mercy from his captors. He never would. Mercy wasn’t allowed to weapons of war. That was what he was now. A weapon, a tool of HYDRA’s dominion. Every day, James felt another bit of his humanity being chipped away, sculpted into something else, something-

“James,” the beautiful voice of Wanda pierced through his memories, bringing it to a halt in a collage of colours and sounds. “I think we’ve gone a bit off-track.”

“Sorry,” James murmured. He felt Wanda pressing close to him, her warmth filling him up and making him feel safe and secure. 

“It’s not your fault. Let’s go back to train.”

The memory rewound and they found themselves back at the moment before he fell, clinging on the side of the car.

“What do you think?” James asked Wanda, to which she only sighed.

“I think you’re braver than you dare to admit,” she confessed. “But for now, I want you to focus on keeping us here, at this moment.”

He nodded, rallying his gaze onto the scene in front of him. He studied the look on Steve’s face, the way his mouth was wide open, screaming eternally, caught in the moment before he lost his best friend. The moment before the rising collapsed. James could see it giving, on the cusp of falling apart sending him down into icy depths into-

Despite his best intentions, the image moved. The railings jerked, breaking in two, and he was falling again. Falling and falling and watching as his life ascended from him, leaving him in the cold and the dark. 

His vision morphed into his capture, his detainment, his torture, his deconstruction, the grasp of the Winter Soldier closing around him, drawing him under--

“It’s okay,” Wanda once again broke through, tearing it all down and he was back on top of the cliff.

He growled, clenching his fists in frustration.

“I can’t do it, Wanda,” he murmured. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“I know,” Wanda quickly reassured him. “It’s alright. Try again. One more time.”

He felt her hand stroking the side of his temple, slow and deliberately.

“I promise you, this time, it will work.”

And so he did, for her sake. He stared at the silent moment, and all he can hear is his own scream. His gaze found the river sitting below him, the drop between the track and the waters. The waters that are starting to flow again. The waters that he’s falling into, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s going to fall. He’s going to die. 

James closed his eyes, knowing what was about to happen.

It never came. 

In fact, very little came after that. Not the cold, not the water, not even the snow. The air had gone deathly still as if James had simply stopped falling. But that couldn’t have happened, he didn’t have the mental control to warp his memories to that degree. In fact, only one person in the world possessed those abilities.

James opened his eyes. His limbs were caught in red, holding him above the waters. 

Descending from out of the sky like an angel was Wanda, her face set with a burning determination. Her hands were raised, summoning his tired body towards her until he settled in her arms. Too drained to protest, he allowed himself to relax, feeling her body supporting him.

Wanda smiled and rested her forehead on his, gripping him tightly to herself.

“Wanda,” James whispered, barely holding himself together. This isn’t how it usually goes. Wanda never usually interfered. She preferred to merely observe and allow him support, to digest the moment himself. 

This was different. This was her, directly changing the memory. She was saving him from his own worst nightmare. 

“Why?” he asked. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

"Because I need you to know,” she whispered, “I need you to believe me.”

The damaged car of the Schnellzug crept floated them as Wanda continued to rise, bringing him along with her. Steve’s face, caught mid-scream, was slowly becoming visible again, as the space between them shortened. They were so close now James could reach out and touch his friend’s gloved hand. So close to salvation. 

But he didn’t take it. He didn’t reach out. How could he, after everything he had done, all the people he killed, all the lives he ruined. Why should be allowed this chance?

Of course, sharing a mind-space with a telepath such as Wanda meant that she heard his thoughts as clearly as he did. And she heard his reluctance, his hesitation. She knew exactly what he was thinking at that moment, and she knew exactly what he needed to hear.

“You are worth saving, James,” she promised. “You are. And no matter what happens, no matter how far you fall, I will always catch you.” 

“You can’t promise that,” James retorted. “You can’t possibly-“

“I am,” Wanda insisted, gripping him fiercely. “I am, and I will.”

She flexed her fingers, and James found himself sidling the fractured debris along the side of the car. Steve’s hand hung just in front of his face. He turned to look at Wanda, still floating to his side, still holding him, supporting him.

“Go on,” Wanda whispered. “You’re safe.”

And then she stared at him, her beautiful, green eyes wide and unblinking. Loving. James could sense it, settling over him, covering him like a shawl over his shoulders.

Wanda loved him. Everything she had done, everything her powers had allowed her to do, was her love for him, her need to protect him. Because watching him suffer was suffering in itself, just as it had been for him all these years. He knew that feeling, that helplessness. He knew that need and the desire to follow it, to interfere and to wrap her up and never let her go. He had felt that pain, watching Wanda suffer through her grief, trying desperately to allow her some kind of reprieve, even with only his company. 

James blinked, suddenly overcome with emotion as the pieces slipped into place. He realised, as if seeing for the first time, how he knew all those things. How he knew what it was like to love someone how Wanda loved him. It was so obvious now, in hindsight, and he wondered how he had never seen it before.

Steve’s hand was still outstretched in front of him, once again beckoning him to safety, thanks to Wanda. This time James reached out, and grabbed it, wrapping his fingers highly around his friend’s wrist. 

Suddenly, the scene came to life, and the railing fell away. But James wasn’t on it. Instead, he was firming in Steve’s grasp, and the super-soldier made little effort hoisting him back into the train, back into safety.

Once James’ feet meet the firm grating of the carriage floor, he was was engulfed in a firm hug.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” Steve gasped. James found himself reciprocating, his arms firmly around his best friend. It felt almost real as if this was what had happened all along. The fall in comparison felt like a distant nightmare.

“You ain’t losing me that easy, bud,” James replied hoarsely. 

And suddenly, he was back in Wanda’s room. Somehow, in the preceding few minutes, while they were inside his head, Wanda had managed to wrap herself around him, her head finding his shoulder, her legs tangled around his, gripping him possessively. He leant back in her embrace, and her lips found his cheek.

“Well done,” she whispered softly. He could hear the smile in her voice. “You did brilliantly.”

“I had help,” James replied. 

“And you always will,” she promised. 

The two stayed there for a few minutes, helping each other unwind from a long, emotional session, perfectly happy to remain in each other’s company for as long as was sensible.

Eventually though, as the clock turned to midnight, the two knew that it was time for them to depart. Sleep was a precious thing in their line of business, it was best to get as much as possible, when possible. You knew never knew when how long you’d have to go without it.

At five minutes past midnight, James found himself in Wanda’s doorway, staring down at her as she bid him goodnight.

“I think we made some real progress tonight,” she remarked, to which James hummed in agreement. “It might not be long before you’re fully recovered.”

“And then what happens?”

Wanda tote her head, a confused expression adorning her face.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, what happens to us?” he clarified. “I wouldn’t wanna…”

A finger to his lips ceased all talking.

“I don’t think you ever could,” Wanda assured him as if reading his mind. Maybe she was, James reasoned. Or perhaps they were far more connected than they initially thought. It surprised how much he savoured that idea.

He was so caught up in that pleasant thought that neither noticed how closely they were standing. There were barely a few inches between them, just enough so that they weren’t touching, but close enough that they might as well have been. Not that either seemed to mind. James certainly didn’t. 

It felt all too natural, being as close as he was to Wanda, having her all but against him, looking up at him in the early hours, her round, sparkling eyes staring up at him int he moonlight. Eyes that held pupils wide enough that he could fall into them.

It could have just been the darkness, he reasoned. It was just her eyes' natural response to the lack of light. But James knew that it wasn’t. Having shared such an intimate space with her, having experienced her feelings for him washing over his conscious mind, he knew precisely why her pupils were so dilated. And he knew, as he took her wrist in between his fingers, why her heartbeat was beating so fast. 

It was the same reason why James’ was doing exactly the same thing. 

The same reason why, despite barely even thinking about, James was leaning forward, closing the distance between them. He saw, just before his eyelids fell shut, that Wanda was mirroring him, leaning up towards him, her lips pouting ever so slightly and her eyes fluttering shut.

The soft contact of her lips on his told him that they were kissing. It was light, chaste, nothing too outrageous, but it was enough to send fireworks through his brain. Enough to render him wide, wide awake.

The fire was back, ignited by their contact, fanned by Wanda’s quiet moan. His hand found the small of her back, forcing their two bodes to collide, and Wanda’s arms flew around his neck. The kiss deepened, unearthing new-found aggression within them both. James’ fingers had deftly found their way up underneath her shirt, touching the exposed skin of her spine, eliciting more delectable sounds from the woman in his arms. Her finger had been similarly curious, fisting his hair, crushing his mouth against her’s. This wasn’t just a kiss anymore, it was rapidly turning into a duel. A fight to see whose passion could consume the other, each of them rising to every new touch, every new sensation that threatened to send them into a frenzy.

It all ended far too soon, even though it probably lasted for longer than they realised. When it did, the couple leaned back, only enough for their lips to part, and no more. 

They couldn’t part even if they wanted to. They were frozen, caught in a moment that neither wanted to end. Except they knew it had to, if only so that they could sleep. The thought of the two of them sleeping together crossed James' mind, but it was shot down soon enough. They had already taken one giant leap, best to wait a while before taking another, before either of them felt ready. Still, it was a step. A step towards what? He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it had to be-

“Finally.”

James felt like he had an ice-cold bucket of water chucked over him. By the way he felt Wanda suddenly stiffen in his arms, she must have experienced a similar sensation.

The couple turned to see none other than Sam, dressed in a fluffy dressing gown and slippers, carrying a warm cup of hot chocolate, a broad, smug grin plastered all over his face. He examined them as if they were a work of art of his own creation.

“I was wondering if you two would ever pull your heads out of your asses.”

James merely smiled at him with all the warmth of a glacier.

“Nice slippers, grandpa.”

“Don’t knock it, they’re comfy. Besides,” Sam shrugged, nudging open his bedroom door, “I’m not the one pushing 106.”

And he left as abruptly as he arrived, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Blipped years don’t count,” James called after him. Wanda sighed.

“Honestly, you two,” she admonished. 

“You can’t say he didn’t start it,” James grinned. Wanda just shook her head, chuckling at his indignation, to which he joined in, hugging her close. 

Eventually, they had to say goodnight, though not after a quick goodbye kiss - for luck, of course.

Still, gazing at Wanda, and choosing to walk away was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Knowing what the two of them could now do, what new avenues in their relationship had just opened up for them, meant that took every ounce of restraint he had not to turn right back around. 

They still hadn’t defined what the relationship was, not with any conventional label. Not that it needed one. James was perfectly happy being in love with Wanda, knowing that his feelings were reciprocated. 

It was a comforting thought, to know that someone truly loved him, as only someone who knew him like Wanda could.

To know that he was worth saving after all.


	11. Soldier?

It was the following Thursday when Sam came to James with the news.

They had found it. The rogue HYDRA cell that had been scouting in Argentina, the one that had sent the bomber. It turned out they were hiring locally, shipping what few recruits they could muster off to an abandoned fortress nearby. It was a wonder they never noticed it before.

Preliminary scans suggested that it was mostly inactive - no weapons or heavy artillery. But this was HYDRA they were talking about. It would be a cold day in hell before anyone underestimated HYDRA.

This was an operation that called for the full team. 

So, in the dead of night, under cover of darkness, the Avengers stormed in. Pietro and Ava struck first, then Brunn assisted by Wanda, followed by air support. It was up to James along with Sam, Peter and Scott to pick off the strays

They never stood a chance. It would have been funny, really, if it weren’t for the fact that the reason why they were so poorly defended was that the recruits were mostly impoverished, radicalised youths. It was no wonder they couldn’t put up a fight.

They had been explicitly told, for that reason precisely, that the Avengers were to use non-lethal force. 

Still, it was surprising how little defence there actually was, in terms of numbers. There were barely enough of them to maintain such an expansive base. James knew whatever they were working on, it had to be something else. Something hidden. 

Which is why, once the fortress was blown wide open, he immediately headed into the bowels of the building, deep into the underground while the others swept the upper levels.

Silently creeping through the tunnels beneath the surface, James eventually came upon a large chamber. It stretched upwards, all the way to what looked like the ground level, so far that James had to stretch his neck to see where it ended. Despite its gargantuan architecture, the room was practically empty. Beyond the few metal foundations keeping the room from collapsing in on itself, the room was abandoned, scarce of people or machinery that would suggest any secret operations. Except for a square glass cubicle, framed in steel, with a single man at a desk inside. He had a microphone to his side and was reading something in front of him on the desk. If he knew that James was there, he did not show it. 

“We have the base surrounded,” James warned, calling the man’s attention. Instead, the man carried on reading, his expression neutral. “You can’t run!”

The man merely smiled.

“Neither can you,” he replied in a distinctly Russian accent, his voice echoing through nearby speakers, “Soldier.”

James’ grip on his rifle tightened as he recognised who was seated behind the glass. He was old, in his sixties, with greying hair that sat atop a shallow face that held dark, sunken eyes and pale skin. It was one of his handlers, from when he was being kept in Siberia. The man from his darkest nightmares made flesh.

“That’s not who I am anymore,” James growled.

“That is what you will always be,” the man smirked. “No matter what you do, no matter how deep you try to bury it, the truth always comes to light. And your truth is HYDRA.”

“You think so?” James scoffed. “‘Cause in my experience, HYDRA was the lie.”

The man shook his head.

“No, soldier. Escape was the lie. You never escaped, not really.”

He glanced down to the desk in front of him, lifting the book that lay on its surface, revealing a blood-red, leather cover, adorned with a black star. James’ eyes widened, and the air left his lungs. He immediately fired off shots on the glass, skirting the edges for a better chance at fracturing the pane. The bullets barely scratched it. 

The man merely raised an eyebrow, tapping the microphone to his side, sending feedback that reverberated throughout the chamber.

A fresh wave of terror flooded through James’ mind as he realised what the man was about to do.

“Guys,” James shouted down his earpiece, “I need back up! I need it now!

“James,” Wanda’s voice replied, “what’s wrong?”

“They have the book,” he exclaimed. “They have the red book!”

“Shit!” Sam gasped on the other end. “Hang on, man! Any available units, converge on the White Wolf! Now!”

“James,” Wanda cried, “hold on! I’m coming!”

The man behind the glass merely tutted.

“Your friends are not invited.”

He pressed a button on a nearby control panel, and the entrance of the chamber slammed shut. James could tell, just by the sound of the two large doors clanging together, that he wouldn’t be able to break through them in time. And with the rest of the team up on the surface, they would never make it to him.

He was trapped, alone and about to face his worst fear.

He was going to become the Winter Soldier again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He could hear Wanda screams, calling for the team to get to him as soon as possible, but he knew it was hopeless. 

The man cleared his throat.

“Time to come home.” 

Suddenly, the room was flooded with harsh light, blinding James momentarily, enough to throw him off, sending him to the floor. He began shooting wildly, hearing the bullets ring against the glass, doing nothing. He was utterly helpless.

“James!” Wanda called into his ear. “James, can you hear me?” 

James closed his eyes, savouring the sound of her voice before it was taken away from him. Before his soul was washed away, and even the voice of the woman he loved meant nothing to him.

“James! Someone to get to James!”

“I’m on route to Barnes now!” Ava replied.

“Me too,” Pietro chorused.

“It’s no use,” James murmured. “It’s no use, guys. I’m sorry.”

“No,” he heard Wanda protest. “I’m coming, James. Please, keep fighting. Don’t give up!”

But how could he possibly fight what was coming? How could he possibly fight what he knew was a losing battle? 

Because he had no other choice, he realised. If HYDRA wanted him, he wasn’t about to go without a fight. Steve wouldn’t have given up. Sam wouldn’t roll over so easily. Wanda certainly wouldn't stop fighting, not for anything.

And neither would he. Even in the face of defeat, he would fight. James Barnes wasn’t about to go down without a struggle, not after everything he had done. Not after he had rediscovered who James Barnes was. Not now, when there were people out there who loved him, and who he loved in return.

There was no way he was to give it all up that easily.

So when the first word came, James was ready, and he was determined not to lose the creeping sensation of something else trying to drag him under. James Barnes was staying.

“Тоска!”

Longing, he translated in his head.

James concentrated, focusing on the word, trying to find something that he could think of, anything except the Winter Soldier.

He found it. He felt something else, clawing at him, a sense of melancholy. Of intense, deep sadness. 

Rebecca

The knowledge that he was too late to say goodbye to Rebecca, his little sister, what he wouldn’t give to have met her once last time. He felt it, whenever he stared at his bedside table, at the newspaper clipping that had been her prized possession. How he longed to smile at Rebecca the way the photo smiled at her through its pane go glass, to let her know that he remembered her and that he loved her, always.

“Ржавый!”

Rusted.

The image of his metal arm, adorned with a red star, crumbling into dust under the gleaming eyes of Wanda. The catharsis of seeing the limb that had shackled to him for so long being reduced to small piles of nothing, floating away in the afternoon breeze. The relief in knowing that he would never have to wear that arm again, never have to feel its pain. Now that all that remained of the Winter Soldier was rust on the lawn.

“Семнадцать!”

Seventeen.

The soft quilted smile of a little teddy bear, dressed in blue and red, staring back at him. This little stuffed toy, something in his own image, made to harken back to him and his accomplishments. Proof that he could have a legacy beyond HYDRA, beyond the years that were taken from him. His one-hundredth birthday present, given to him back in 2017.

“Pассвет!”

Daybreak.

Resting against Wanda, watching the sunrise after a long, dark night. Realising that the worst of it was all over, that there was a light at the end and he was looking at it. That the dawn of a new day was here, leaving the nightmares behind.

James was maintaining control, despite the programming doing its best to break him down. He only had to hold out for a little bit longer now. The voice of his teammates - Sam shouting at Pietro and Ava to cut the power, Wanda desperately calling his name - the groan of steel bending and giving way under immense force met his ears. He placed it all to the side. He had focus, or the battle would be lost.

His handler must have known he was short on time because his voice became urgent, the words more hurried.

“Печь!”

Furnace.

A fire, deep and flaming from within, burning to be released. Watching Wanda fight - nay, dance - over the battlefield with the grace of a ballerina. The flashes of scarlet that would send him into a frenzy. Those piercing, dark eyes and a dangerous smile that rendered him helpless, ready to give in, only to her. The woman who could make any room he was in feel like a furnace.

“Девять!”

Nine.

The New Avengers, a group of misfits. People with pasts, with tragedies and strengths all their own. People that reminded him that he wasn’t alone, nor will he ever be. The team, his friends. His new-found family of nine. The family that was coming to save him.

“Доброкачественная!”

Benign.

The soft fur between his fingers, pressing up against his palm as the tiny bunny rabbit in his hands slept peacefully. The realisation that something so small, so innocent, could trust him so completely renders him speechless. It makes him think that perhaps James Barnes can be perfectly benign after all.

“Возвращение домой!” 

Homecoming.

The relief of returning to the compound after the holiday from hell. Exhausted, cold, sore and ready for a warm night of sleep, in the security of home. The word comes so easily that it surprises him, he barely realises that he said it until Wanda points it out. By which time, he knows it to be the truth. 

“Один!”

One.

The shock of the explosion, followed by grief and pain and regret that he will always carry with him. Mia, lost and alone, being the one survivor. The one that made all the difference. The one that still had time, at least. The miracle.

“Грузовой вагон!”

Freight car.

The sensation of being caught, suspended in the air, as an image of perfection beckoned him to the heavens. The texture of a leather glove pulling back into the freight car from which he once fell, back into safety. The thrill of his and Wanda’s first kiss, the first of many, and a door opening to something new and exciting. The warm feeling of knowing that someone loves him and that he is worth saving.

The blast doors to James’ back burst open, just as his handler finished the final word.

The base fell into darkness, as the power grid was cut. Too little, too late. 

The man behind the glass grinned, seeing his prized asset kneeling on the floor, his hands clenched in his long, brown hair. 

After a pause, the asset’s hands relaxed, falling to his side. He looked up staring outwards as if suddenly realising where he was.

“Soldier.”

The handler unlocked his cell, stepping outwards, the red book in hand. He took tentative steps towards the asset, trying not to make any sudden noise.

“Can you hear me?”

The asset sat up, his gaze falling onto the older man, his eyes blank. Smiling, the handler clasped the leather-bound shut, satisfied with his work.

The dust cleared, and the Scarlet Witch, the one who broke down the blast doors, strode inside. Her eyes fell on her comrade, and she gasped.

“No,” she whispered faintly. “James…”

“Good morning, Soldier,” the handler greeted, eying the Scarlet Witch vindictively. “Its time to get to wo-“

A metal fist grabbed him around the throat, heaving him up into the air so high that his feet left the concrete. The handler’s focus fell back to the asset, spotting for the first time the intense rage that burned behind his eyes.

“My name,” he growled, “Is James… Buchanan… Barnes!”

The handler was thrown back into the glass, smacking against the pane and sliding onto the floor. 

James rounded on him, as the older man frantically reopened the book. 

“Тоска!” he read desperately. “Ржавый! Семнадцать! Pассве-“

His efforts were interrupted by James grabbing him by the arms and hauling to eye level.

“You can’t control me anymore,” James simply said.

“How?” The handler gasped. “We broke you!”

James smirked.

“You tried to.”

The handler spat at him, trying to wrench James’ arms away from him.

“You’re not one of them,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are the Red Hand. That’s all you’ll ever be-”

To which James merely punched him in the stomach, winding him.

“You don’t get to decide who I am.”

The handler slumped to the floor, his words melting into the pained groans and whines of a lame animal. He did not try to get back up again.

It was then that James turned back towards the entranceway, seeing for the first the utterly mangled blast doors, and the woman he who was sure was responsible for it.

The woman who was staring at him with wide, wet eyes and parted lips. 

He smiled at her. 

“It’s me, Wanda,” he told her, watching as her face blossomed into a beautiful smile. “I did it.”

He barely registered that she was running when he felt her collide into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him down into the crook of her neck. James snaked his arms around her, bringing her close, treasuring the feel of her the grip she refused to relinquish.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered into his ear.

“So did I,” James admitted, kissing he forehead affectionately. “But I’m still here, doll. I’m not leaving any time soon.”

It wasn’t long before Pietro and Ava arrived, along with the rest of the Avengers, having neutralised the remaining soldiers on the surface. The broad, exuberant grin that met James when told Sam what he had done was surprising, but welcome all the same. As was the surprise hug from Ava, along with a friendly pat on the shoulder from Pietro. 

It was James’ honour to personally arrest the handler, still lying pronoun the floor of the chamber. He might have fastened the cuffs a little bit too tight for comfort, he had to admit. Not that it was going to cost James any sleep. In fact, James imagined that very few things were going to cost him sleep from now on. 

Now that the Winter Soldier was officially dead.

And James Barnes had killed him.

The realisation of that fact only really occurred to James once he was back in the safety of the Quinjet, waiting for the final sweep of the castle to be over. He couldn't help the smile that erupted on his face. The Winter Solider was dead, for good. He was free, to do whatever he pleased, to be the man he had always wanted to be. James glanced to his side, where Wanda stood beaming at him, mirroring his grin. With the confidence of a free man, he whisked her into his arms and pressed his lips against her’s, relishing in the little sounds she made as he dipped her.

He ignored Pietro’s gagging, flipping him the bird as he continued to snog the woman in his arms.

The woman who had helped set him free. The woman who never gave up on him, who would move mountains and suffer sleepless nights for him. His guardian angel.

His Wanda, whom James loved more than life itself.

Steve's words echoed in his head, "You'll understand when you fall in love."

And he did. For the first time in his life, James truly did.

* * *

It was as the avengers were clearing out - having scoured the base for anything unusual and finding nothing - that Ava decided to examine the chamber more closely. She knew why Barnes had come down here, she knew just as well as he did that HYDRA couldn't have hoped to maintain this fortress as a military outpost. No, Ava reasoned, there had to be something more to this place. Except, the trouble was that there wasn't. The upper levels were clean, and it looked like this place was too. Whatever HYDRA was hiding, they hid it well.

Ava's eyes fell into the cage where the handler had once been seated, right in the centre of the room, illuminated under a spotlight. She passed through the glass, scanning the inside for any clues. There was little of importance. Only a few files on Barnes, candid photos of him on missions, his service record, etc. Clearly, they had banked on Barnes coming. Perhaps that was why they sent the scout ahead? To get their attention? But if they meant for the Avengers to come here, then...

Ava put her theories aside for the moment - she'd consult Wilson about her thoughts later - instead turning her gaze to the rest of the room.

Scott and Hope were talking in the corner, probably about possible dates for dates. Ava scoffed. They were allowed to, of course, but their insistence of doing it in the field was becoming a frustrating habit.

Taking her eyes off the couple by the entrance, Ava spotted a metal bench tucked away in the corner, the corner of it just peeking out behind the concrete embedded in the side of the chamber wall. She marched over to it, pulling out from behind the foundation, exposing it to the light. there was something sitting on its surface. It looked like a scuba suit, coloured in black and yellow, with wires running along its body. What little she could make of it was covered in heavy layers of dust, as if it hadn't been touched in months.

Ava brushed away the dust, staring closely as the suit. It looked familiar, somehow. Very familiar, in fact.

She froze, realising what it was, her eyes widening. 

“Guys!” Ava called urgently, summoning the attention of Scott and Hope. The pair quickly made their way over, glancing past Ava’s shoulder, onto the workbench in front of her. There on the dusty surface lay something that forced both of them to do a double-take.

“Is that an Ant-Man suit?” Hope asked rhetorically, more in confirmation that it wasn’t some hallucination than out of uncertainty. 

“No,” Scott replied, to which he received a sceptical glance from the women beside him. “At least, it’s not one of _mine_.”

“Are you sure?” Ava asked. “It looks like your’s.”

“Mine’s not yellow,” Scott pointed out. Ava rolled her eyes. “Besides, look, it doesn’t fit me.” He demonstrated by holding the suit up against his body. The shoulder came midway up Scott’s neck, diminishing him in comparison. It clearly belonged to someone slightly taller and much skinnier in contrast to Scott’s stature. 

“So whose is it?” Hope asked the obvious question.

“Do you think HYDRA made it?” Ava proposed anxiously.

“No, this is way beyond them,” Scott assured her, examine the suit more closely. “This is even beyond us. This is some super-advanced stuff. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“So, who made it?” Ava asked.

“I don’t know,” Scott murmured, “But in any case, it’s better off coming with us.”

“Agreed,” Hope nodded. “Whatever this is, whatever HYDRA was planning to do with it, it shouldn’t be left here.”

The three quickly left the chamber, carrying the mysterious suit with them, blissfully unaware of the fact that they were being watched.

Unaware that, though they were the last people to depart the base, the fortress was far from empty. And that what remained was now ready to enact their ultimate revenge.

There weren’t many people living in the local area - HYDRA made sure of it, for the sake of their operations - but those did, those who dared to trespass, could swear they heard the sound singing coming from the bowels of the great fortress. The ghostly sound of a young boy, singing along to a simple tune, echoing throughout the empty walls of the abandoned building. 

_“I had strings... but now I’m free…_

_There are no strings on me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this isn't quite the end, but for now, it is. I am planning one more chapter, however, it will be released simultaneously with another chapter I'm writing for How To Make A Home, so I'm holding it off for now. It's nothing too important, more of an epilogue to the story than a pivotal chapter.
> 
> As for a sequel, well it's on its way to being written. I have an outline and a solid start, it's just a matter of putting my head down and writing. 
> 
> Until then, I will be focusing on my other stories, especially I'll Keep You Safe. So feel free to check it out if you want more content from me. I'll also be adding to How To Make A Home over the next few weeks, leading up to the big day.
> 
> Until the next time, folks, thanks for reading. Peace.


End file.
